The Witch of Valdenhoff
by SpartAl412
Summary: War rages across the northwestern realms of the Empire. Tribes of Beastmen, mutants and various minions of the Dark Gods lay waste to the villages and towns of Sigmar's heirs. Amid this conflict, the desperate populace of one town prepare to make a dark deal with something just as terrible as any daemon or servant of the Ruinous Powers.
1. The Witch

The cold air which filled this darkest of nights was but a pale thing when compared to the fear which gripped the very soul of Johan Steinman. Underneath the thick canopy of trees, his only source of light was a single lantern which he held in his left hand while the other hand held on to a loaded flintlock pistol which had seen better days. The Imperial huntsman knew that during nights such as this, when only the witch moon of Morrslieb could be seen in the sky, sane, pious men should be within their homes and praying for safety.

Tightly clutching the old pistol which was good for only one shot, his natural instincts told him to just forget this foolish endeavor and run back to town. The thought of his home, Valdenhoff made him think twice of running back for the danger they faced was worse than before. Again, the Beastman tribes of the Drakwald had gathered into a mighty herd, the Graff was already assembling an army to defeat the monsters but until then, what chance did the towns and villages within the forest have against such numbers?

Refugees from their neighboring settlements have already flooded the streets and Valdenhoff, thievery and riots were rife as their food supplies dwindled. Worse still, scouts and vanguards of the Beastmen herd had already been spotted. Even if they did arm and train every man woman in child in the village, they would still stand no chance against the herd whose numbers did not include just the simple Gors.

Tales from the refugees told of the more monstrous and dread things among the Children of Chaos, Minotaurs, Jabberslythes, Harpies and Centigors were but only a few of the things which traveled with the herd. There were also tales of dark armoured northmen warriors from the Brass Keep who traveled with the herd, raiding, raping and pillaging all those who stood in their way. Darker tales were also told of a mighty daemon of plague and pestilence was leading this army.

The militia of his town only had hunting bows, a few firearms, spears and axes to defend themselves and had little in the way of armour or artillery. Against such a force of the Ruinous Powers, the folk of Valdenhoff knew that they were doomed and when it seemed that hysteria and panic would break out, Old Man Hans made the suggestion of visiting the _Wolfenhexe._

Many in the town had scoffed at the old man's idea for a few months ago he had been madly raving about a witch who lived in the woods and kept around wolves for company. Everybody knew that the forest was home to many unnatural creatures and that the only people who would choose to live alone were either the mad or the damned. The matter would have been quickly settled had it not been for Sieghart, a well standing member of their town's militia who then vouched for Hans.

Sieghart had told them the tale of how when he had recently been out on patrol before the current troubles with the beastmen began; he had been ambushed by a party of spider riding goblins. The militia man would have met his end had the goblin ambushers in turn had been ambushed themselves by a pack of wolves. The wolves were, according to Sieghart, the same kind often used by goblins and at first he had thought that perhaps it was a rival tribe of greenskins until he saw the witch who ran with the wolves.

Sieghart was not quite clear about what had happened after but Johan remembered how two weeks ago, the militiaman had become deathly pale and he ended up bed ridden for days under the care of the village's Rhyan priestesses. Then there was Lukas, the butcher's son who came forward with his own story, about a week ago, his cat, Herr Pounce had run off into the woods chasing a mouse.

The boy who was also a well liked member of their town had gone after the cat and in the forest, he too had been attacked by a beastman. The boy claimed his life was also saved by the witch who ran with wolves and like Sieghart, he was not quite sure of what happened afterwards but what was known was that the boy returned to the village, pale and sickly as well but not the extent Sieghart had been.

One of the local priests of Taal suggested that perhaps this witch may actually be a wizard, a mage of their Empire's Colleges of the Magic, one who practiced sorcery related to animals of the wild. Many of the townsfolk had heard the tales about solitary wizards who could commune with natural animals and were as much the enemies of the beastmen as any pious man was. Of course, most of the people were actually wary about the idea of consorting with a wizard in the first place but Johan's mother had reminded them of a lady wizard who had passed by their town a few years earlier, the wizard had used her magic to help their crops grow and cleanse the water in the well.

The debate was renewed until desperation and fear had overcome their judgment, in the end they had agreed to send someone out to visit the _Wolfenhexe, _for if this witch was indeed a battle wizard, then this person would be their best hope. It was unanimously agreed that they would draw straws to see who should go and by all the rotten luck in the world, it was Johan who drew the short one. Now here he was, in the middle of a beast haunted forest, looking for a weaver of powers no mortal should even wield.

Old Man Hans explained that the _Wolfenhexe_ lived in a cave to the north, not far from the town. The cave itself was known to the people of Valdenhoff for it supposedly was once the home of a herd of beastmen who took the form of rats. There were a number of ridiculous stories regarding this beastmen herd, such as them knowing about science and machines like those engineers from Altdorf or Nuln, absolutely ludicrous he thought for beastmen even struggled to put together simple tools such as spears.

The coldness of the night air seemed to become colder as Johan drew closer to where the cave should be. He began to break out in a cold sweat as he picked up an animal smell and he saw the paw prints of wolves upon the ground. The howling of wolves could be heard not far from behind him; he glanced back and saw the glowing eyes of the animals as the light from his lantern gave them a hellish visage.

Swiftly pointing his flintlock at the wolves, his right arm began to shake, his fear intensified for he knew that his pistol was good for only one shot. If he fired at the wolves, he would not have enough time to reload before the pack would be upon him. Stepping back and shaking with terror as he tightly clenched his bowels, the wolves maintained their distance, away from the huntsman whose mind raced with regrets about his current predicament.

Fighting down the fear in his gut which threatened to rage into a full blown panic, he turned away from the wolves and continued to follow the route towards the cave. His nerve-wracking journey brought him to the mouth of a seemingly natural cave which was littered with dozens of bones around the entrance. Gulping down a lump in his throat, he cautiously advanced towards the cave, with his lantern held high and his pistol at the ready.

Upon a closer inspection of the bones, he saw that they were mostly animal-like, especially those of large, overgrown rats. Yet here and there he saw bones which looked like it belonged to an orc, a goblin, a goat headed beastman and most worryingly, even a few which looked human. Looking back again to see the wolves drawing closer towards the cave but still maintaining their distance from him, Johan felt like he was a rabbit caught in a cage.

Within the darkness of the cave, at the edge of the dim glow of light, he caught a pair of eyes glinting and watching him from within. Upon contact with those eyes, Johan found himself standing transfixed by the twin orbs, he suddenly then lost his nerve and the urge to run away engulfed him but his legs betrayed him and remained rooted in place. A whispery voice began to ebb into his ears and he felt compelled to follow those eyes into the darkness.

His legs began to take a will of their own and they carried him deeper into the cave, one slow step at a time. His boots crunched over the bones which surrounded the cave, he saw a mass of glittering eyes upon its roof and he realized that they were bats. Dozens if not hundreds of bats were staring at him with hungry eyes; he began to recall a number of childhood horror tales his father had once told him.

Johan's father had been a Free Company mercenary who traveled around much of the Empire. The man had fought in many battles against Men and Monsters but among the worst places his father had campaigned, none was more feared than the haunted lands of Sylvania. A land ruled by nocturnal monsters which wore the faces of men and drank the blood of innocents were also said to be fond of keeping around animals such as bats and wolves as pets.

Hearing a sudden clatter upon the ground, Johan's train of thought was broken as he noticed his right hand gripped only air. He had dropped his pistol! Terror began to renew itself within him and he wanted to go and try to find it but found that his body no longer obeyed him. The light within his lantern suddenly extinguished and Johan sight was plunged into darkness.

His heart began to beat loudly like a drum within his chest, his bowels felt almost ready to void itself, he wanted to turn away and run, but he found that he just could not. He felt himself moving deeper into the cave, the air had grown evem colder and the hairs upon the back of his neck began to stand as his skin broke out in gooseflesh. The whispering voice suddenly then ceased and an emerald green fire lit the darkness.

For a moment, Johan was blinded by the light, he tried to raise his right arm to shield his eyes and to his surprise, his limbs obeyed. Cautiously lowering his arm, Johan found himself in a chamber which was littered with strange metallic machinery. Various gadgets, gizmos and other bric-à-brac he would associate with the College of Engineers lay strewn about; many looked damaged or outright broken.

The emerald fire which banished the darkness was placed upon a brazier made from bars of rusted iron which held a rat-like skull. The hollow eyes of the giant rat skulls glowed with the unnatural fires, giving them a nightmarish look as they leered with sharp toothed grins.

A soft series of steps began to echo across the cave, he looked towards the source of the steps and his eyes widened to see what stood before him. Clad in scraps of animal hides and a mask crafted from the skull of a wolf, he saw the pale shape of _Wolfenhexe_. Rather than seeing a shriveled hag, he saw that the witch he had dreaded seeing was voluptuous woman whose bare flesh gave way to excitement within Johan.

The _Wolfenhexe _slowly sauntered towards Johan with hips gently swaying. The Witch's hair was long and black, her stride and bearing reminded Johan of a highborn noble woman. The witch's eyes were the color of a deepest black as if he were staring into a pair of obsidian stones which were ringed with white.

'You are brave, or perhaps foolish to enter my abode… little man…' came the sultry voice of _Wolfenhexe_ whose head gently tilted to one side.

'I…' said Johan fearfully as he felt another lump in his throat, his gaze were locked upon the witch's ample breasts which gleamed under the emerald light. Reminding himself of his reason for being here, he managed to pluck up the nerve to continue. 'I am here...' he said distractedly as the witch who was a full head shorter than he was, lifted a slender, pale hand which stroked his bearded chin, the witch's touch was cold like that of stone.

'Do you seek my aid for your village, little man?' came the seductive purr of the witch's voice.

'Y-yes' he stammered 'How did you-'

'I know many things that go on within these woods' interrupted the witch as she traced a long delicate finger nail across his chin, it felt more like the tip of a dagger was lightly pressing against his flesh. 'I would agree protect it, on one condition…' the witch then said 'a temporary pact.'

'What is your price then?' Asked Johan hesitantly for he began to have a foreboding feeling that it was going to be something like his own soul or the blood an innocent virgin if he went by the stories he had heard as a boy.

'I am so lonely here in this cave…' purred the witch as she began to slowly circle around him like a wolf would when facing prey. 'Often I find myself in need of company other than those of my pet' she explained in her seductive tone, the witch who was now behind him, brought up her slim hands between his arms and her hands held onto his chest with a surprisingly strong grip 'keep me warm this night, then come the morrow convince your fellows to do the same for me and I shall give your village the protection you all… desire.'

His feeling of fear and lust towards the witch intensified, he knew that he should agree to save his town, but something at the back of his head told him that this was a devil's bargain, surely it was more than just one carnal night. He was forced to remind himself once more that there were some real devils out there in the forest. It was only a matter of time until those daemons set their sights upon Valdenhoff.

'I will' whispered Johan with more fear than certainty as he glanced back and saw the masked face of the _Wolfenhexe_ 'I will talk to my neighbors and I will try to convince them to agree to your price.'

'Good…' whispered the witch as she tightened her grip upon him. 'Now let me see… how much **you** are willing to pay' she said rather cryptically, Johan felt his body no longer obeying him once more. He felt the witch press her lips upon the side of his neck, there was a sharp but brief sting of pain before his body was overwhelmed by a feeling of pleasure and ecstasy.

* * *

><p><em>A few nights later…<em>

With hungry eyes did Goreg Mould Gut look upon the human village which was protected by a flimsy wall of wood logs which were sharpened at the top. He had once been a mighty leader of his people, once he had been the Tyrant of his own tribe, who had traveled the world as mercenary Maneaters. Their last employment which had been so many years ago had been under the commission of some spiky armored elves from across the sea.

The elves had paid them good gold to wreak havoc upon the humans of the Empire, and as a mercenary, he had learned never to ask why. They had done well at first, their banquets and feasts of man-flesh had satisfied the hungry bellies of his tribe and the treasure they looted ensured them that when their job was done, they could buy even more food with it. The campaign then ended in disaster when the human soldiers of the Empire came, armed with black powder weapons and foul magic, the humans were also accompanied by four elves who proved to be even deadlier than the humans.

Now here he was in the middle of this cursed forest with only a few of his remaining kin, their females were all gone and their young either have either been devoured by the Ogres themselves or the beasts and greenskins of the forest. They had also eaten all of their gnoblars years ago and had tried to replace them with goblins but the runty creatures were more untrustworthy and dangerous. Goreg had lost several of his clan against the treacherous goblins who led the ogres into ambushes from giant spiders.

Their flesh had been warped and altered, tooth filled maws which lashed out with serpentine tongues had appeared over their bodies, each maw spoke their tongue and each one demanded meat and flesh. Goreg himself had developed a series of a dozen spider-like eyes which were scattered around his head. It must have been all the beast-flesh they had eaten over the years he thought, for there was hardly much else to eat within what the humans called the Drakwald forest.

In recent weeks, the remnants of Goreg's tribe had encountered the mighty being with a girth greater than their own. A monstrous daemon of pestilence and decay which promised them a mighty feast, should they swear to serve it. There was something about this daemon, (probably its prodigious gut he thought) which seemed very convincing with its offer.

After they had accepted, Goreg soon found himself in an alliance with several of the beastmen his kin had once hunted. In the days since they had accepted the daemon's offer, the ogres had fed well, better than they had in years. The feasts of meat from humans, greenskins, mundane animals and various other things had made their fealty to the daemon worth it.

With hungry eyes did Goreg look upon this village, his warriors stood ready, their meaty fists clutched the ends of massive cudgels and stone weapons. He still had two Lead Belchers who assured him, carried enough black powder to level the settlement's defenses as if it were mere kindling. Grinning evilly at the town, Goreg lifted his mighty cleaver towards the human settlement and he gave a loud, boisterous roar which was followed by the voices of his fellow ogres and the beastmen which now followed them.

As he roared, Goreg noticed something off with the voices of his troops. He heard the howls of wolves and as far as he knew, he didn't notice any wolf headed beastmen among his warband. The wolf howls drew closer and he heard a loud series of high pitched shrieks in the air, his warband noticed this as well and both Beastmen and Chaos Ogres were warily surveying the forest around them.

One of the runty beastmen began to point and gibber at something to the north of their warband. The heads of many of his warriors turned their gaze towards whatever it was the ungor had pointed at and they saw several lupine shapes emerge from the forest. Goreg recognized these wolves as of being the kind often used by goblins as mounts and yet none of them bore any of the small greenskins.

One of the wolves had eyes which were shining black obsidian pits, it howled a mournful cry towards the green moon and soon Goreg began to smell something new yet old. It was the musty smell of dried bone and old leather which was mixed with the familiar, sickly sweet stench of dark magic. The Chaos Ogre Tyrant looked towards where this smell came from and he saw several skeletal shapes south of their warband. One of the skeletons which looked like it may have once belonged to a Skaven, pointed a rusty sword towards Goreg's warband and a wave of skeletal skaven, orcs, goblins and beastmen began a mad dash towards Goreg's warriors.

Hearing bells echoing from the human settlement, Goreg saw torches light up as humans began to run about on the ramparts of the wooden wall. Bellowing a curse, the Ogre Tyrant knew that the element of surprise was now lost and the humans would begin firing arrows at them. Bellowing orders to the Lead Belchers and ordering them to open fire upon the walls of the village, Goreg suddenly saw a swarm of black winged bats descend up the two.

The Lead Belchers bellowed in rage and pain as the bat swarm cut and tore into their flesh, the thick hides of the ogres proved resilient to the attacks of the bats but such was their sheer number that in time, the swarm began to cause some serious injuries. The Lead Belchers swung their cannons about, crushing the bodies of the bats but always, there seemed to be more and more of the flying vermin.

Anger rose up within the Tyrant as the Lead Belcher deviated from the plan, he saw the glint of something shiny flying over the heads of his warriors and he heard the crash of shattering glass amidst the voices of his warband. A thick green smoke began to engulf his warriors; beastmen and Chaos Ogres coughed and began to choke as the gas they inhaled caused them to bleed from their eyes, ears, noses and mouths with many choking on their own gore. Quickly stepping away from the spreading cloud of deadly vapors, Goreg soon began to feel several sharp stabs of pain upon his bulk.

Quickly looking down to see several arrows sticking out of his mutated flesh, several more of the projectiles thudded into his flesh and the Tyrant bellowed in pain. How could this have happened!? he thought. One moment they were about to raze and massacre this town and then suddenly, it was his warband who were being killed.

Anger boiled up within him, the urge to just march of towards the human settlement and butcher everything began to appeal to him. Loud booms emerged from the walls of the village and Goreg roared in further pain as lead bullets slammed into his body. The agony he felt was intense, his howls echoed across the sky as both meat and bone were shredded by the black powder weapons, The Ogre Tyrant staggered back from the shots and it was testament to his warped constitution that he still remained standing.

Having risen to the position of Tyrant through a mixture of both cunning and strength, he knew well enough that the odds were greatly stacked against him. As Goreg was about to sound the retreat of his warband, he felt something land upon his back and more pain washed over him as something sharp stabbed into his back. Thrashing about while swinging his arms, he heard a loud hissing sound behind him and he began to feel a new, unnerving sensation.

An unnatural chill started to course through the Ogre Tyrant and he began to feel so very tired. As if all the years he had lived had begun to weigh down upon him, Goreg noticed with horror that his skin had begun to shrivel with age. The Chaos Ogre Tyrant did not even have time to realize that he was dead before his body transformed into a mummified husk.

* * *

><p>Looking upon her handiwork with more than a bit of cruel satisfaction, Meike von Königsbrandt licked the brackish blood off of her sharpened fingertips. The foul taste of Ogre-blood was strongly mixed with warpstone, it seemed that the brutish creature had consumed way too much mutant flesh. She wondered with curiosity if it were possible to extract the solidified Chaos Magic from the blood of such creatures.<p>

So much death and in such little time! She thought with delight. Perhaps she should also see what else she could scrounge up from the skaven burrow? There might be some amusing toys there as well.

A wicked smile creased upon the Vampire's face as she stood underneath the shade of an oak tree, away from the walls of the settlement. Dawn would be coming soon and perhaps she could sleep on it over the coming day. The mortal town was safe for now and the inhabitants had been good on their word to send fresh little morsels her way, she had fed better in these last few nights than she had in recent months since she had begun her studies of the Grimoire.

Giving a mental command to the wolves, bats and skeletal minions, Meike retired from the field. No doubt that the chaos horde which had been riled up within the forest would send more of their warriors. Let them come she thought with anticipation as the Beast within all of her kind which desired to rend flesh and cause bloodshed had reared up.

Let them come she thought once more for the Vampire was always happy to have something to play with…


	2. The Sorcerer

Scraping a cloven hoof against the loamy earth and kicking up clods of dirt, Ebolgor exhaled great visible puffs of steam into the cold night air. The Beastman chieftain viewed these newest of intruders with a mixture of anticipation, hunger and disdain. Standing before the tribe of Ebologor were several mighty, blue and gold armoured humans warriors of the Northern Wastes, each one bore the runes of the Tchar, The Great Changer.

With covetous eyes did the Chieftain who was a follower of the Plaguefather, look upon the mighty ensorcelled weapons the warriors of the north carried. There were relatively few of the northern warriors and Ebolgor was confident that his herd could overwhelm them with a barrage of arrows and thrown spears before closing in for the kill. There were proprieties to be followed though, a code of conduct the followers of the True Gods expected lest shame and dishonour fall upon those who would break this custom.

Having already called to the northern warriors and proudly announcing his name and deeds, Ebolgor awaited the northern leader to do the same. It did not take long for a blue and gold armoured figure whose regalia looked to be a mix of daemon-steel and robes of raven feather to come forward, a Sorcerer Chief Ebolgor noted. The Sorcerer Chieftain of the northern warriors wielded a staff in one hand which carried the eight pointed star at the top which sparked with eldritch lightning and in the other hand, the sorcerer carried a magnificent rune sword which also crackled with lightning, the face of the sorcerer was concealed by a golden helmet which was shaped to resemble the face of a raven.

'I am Hjalmar Stormcrown' spoke the Sorcerer Chieftain in the Dark Tongue of the Gods, the compelling voice of the Sorcerer Chieftain was as powerful as thunder during a storm. 'I am a vassal of the Daemon Prince, Wotan Ravens Eye, Blessed of Tzeentch, now stand aside Goat! Lest I order my warriors to put all of your pathetic hides to the sword!'

Enraged by the Sorcerer Chief's insult, Ebolgor raised one of his imbued, rusty cleavers towards this Hjalmar, the dark green runes of pestilence and decay glowed as flies began to buzz around the Beast Chieftain who gave his kin a single command "KILL!" All around Ebolgor, the beastmen herd threw their heads back and roared their mighty war cries to the heavens above as they rushed towards the northern warriors.

The Warriors of Chaos quickly grouped up into a defensive formation with shield locking alongside one another, their runic blades blazed with the magic of the gods. The Sorcerer Chief, Hjalmar pointed his staff towards Ebolgor and a bolt of azure lightning burst out from the top and it struck the Beastman Chieftain. Pain coursed through Ebolgor, but the arcane talismans he wore glowed with the protective magic woven into them, the same could not be said for the Bestigors nearest to him for the lightning bolt jumped from the chieftain and incinerated his warriors.

The Beastmen quickly crashed into the northern warriors, their arrows and spears sunk into the armour of the foe, but none of their prey had yet to fall. With clinical precision, the armoured humans cut down several of Ebolgor's kin with enchanted weapons which were imbued with a variety of sorceries. Whether it was axe, mace, hammer, flail or sword, the weapons of the Warriors of Chaos either blazed with fire, crackled with lightning, misted with frost or glowed with arcane light.

Charging towards the insolent Sorcerer, Ebolgor roared a praise in the name of the Plague Father, his cleavers were held high as putrid foam began to appear around his mouth. He would tear this Sorcerer's flesh and offer his soul to Nurgle. The Sorcerer remained rooted to on the spot and with as much speed and strength as he could muster, Ebolgor brought both of his cleavers down upon the sorcerer.

Instead of feeling the satisfying impact of armour bending or flesh tearing, Ebolgor felt the impact of his cleavers striking Hjalmar's weapons. The Sorcerer Chieftain was stronger than the Beastman had anticipated, good he thought for it would make the sorcerer's heart an even sweeter delicacy. Thrusting his horned head forward with teeth aimed at his foe's eyes, the Beast Chieftain's maw clamp down into open air as the enemy leader quickly pulled back and disengaged from the Beastman leader.

Swiftly following the movements of the Sorcerer, Ebolgor felt a sharp pain explode upon his back. Glancing down, Ebolgor saw a bloodied rune sword protruding through his chest, the blade glowed with eldritch magic as it cleaved through his armour a burning sensation began to course through the Beastman's veins and he began to feel a growing sense of weakness. Ebolgor quickly realized that the magic within the sword was attacking the blessed diseases the Plague Father had given him; the cursed blade was actually curing the him!

'The sword is imbued with the magic of Life itself' came the voice of the Sorcerer who suddenly stood before the Beastlord. 'It is the bane of those who serve your pathetic slug of a god' Hjalmar then said with contempt 'it is also rather effective against those who cling to a false semblance of life.'

Anger and rage built up within Ebolgor at this sacrilege against the gifts of the Plague Father. With mighty roar, the Beast Chieftain spun around to face the warrior which stabbed him in the back like a goblin. The plague cleaver followed Ebolgor and as soon as he laid eyes upon the Nothern Warrior behind him, the Chaos Warrior's head was cleaved from his shoulders.

To Ebolgor's surprise, there was no blood or flesh within the Chaos Warrior; he only saw a cloud of dust fly up while an audible sigh of relief could be heard before the warrior's body collapsed with absolutely nothing inside. The Beastlord suddenly felt another flash of pain, this time around the back of his neck and the next thing he knew, and he began to tumble to the ground. The Beastlord quickly crashed to the grassy forest floor and he saw a pair of hooves which oddly seemed familiar, it quickly then dawned on Ebolgor's mind that he was looking at his own hooves as his body slumped down, his neck had ended in a seared, steaming stump of charred meat.

* * *

><p>Rolling his eyes beneath his helmet, Hjalmar honestly did not know why he even bothered speaking with the pathetic creature whose head now lay before his feet. Noticing the silence which had now fallen upon the forest, he cast his gaze towards the beastmen which now stared expectantly at him. The stupid creatures would now be seeing him as their new leader he thought with disdain, he supposed that at the least they would make for good fodder.<p>

The warriors of his warband lowered their weapons and they quickly returned towards their original formation. The beastmen lowered their weapons as well and they bowed to the Sorcerer Lord, their loud voices began to chant his name 'Hjalmar! Hjalmar!' He became further annoyed for the beastmen even pronounced his name wrong and were saying it more like 'Haamlar'.

Dumb, brutish animals he thought, for the war they had been waging against the Empire had hardly been doing any real damage. So what if they destroy a few towns and villages? The Imperials would just build more over time. It was only a matter of time until the Imperial Warlord known as Todbringer would gather enough of the Empire's warriors to crush the beastmen's warherd, not that he cared of course.

The diseased minions of the Plague God were foolish weaklings, the beastmen themselves were little more than chaff to be thrown at an enemy army on most days. A clear example of their weakness was the stories some of the tribes had been spreading. Ridiculous tales of daemons which took mortal forms and fought for the Imperials were being spread.

One particularly prevalent tale was that of a Khornate daemon which took the form of an elf with a burning axe. Apparently, this daemon-elf was already responsible for massacring several of the smaller tribes, those few who had fled were telling that it did not stop with the warriors and that it even went as far as to butcher the females and young. Tales of this daemon-elf had already reached the warriors of the Brass Keep as well; no doubt some of the thick skulled followers of Khorne are going to start sending out parties of head hunters.

Again, this mattered little to Hjalmar for he had his own quest to attend to. 'Let's go' he simply then said as the warriors of his master, The Everlasting followed him with the beastmen joining shortly afterwards. The Tome was near, he could feel it, the leech which had stolen what rightfully belonged to his master would also be nearby as well.

Tightening his grip upon his sword, the Chaos Sorcerer had sworn to reclaim the Tome, if he succeeded, he would gain favor with his master and in turn, it would be one more step towards his own ascension…

* * *

><p>Looking up to see the clear orange sky above, Johan lazily held on to the staff of his long bow as he stood on guard upon the palisades for the coming night. It had been five days since he had arrived back in Valdenhoff, four of those days had been spent recovering at the clinic the Rhyan and Shallyan priestesses had set up. The clinic now had at least four other patients who needed tending, could be worse he supposed considering the beastmen horde out there, at least they weren't holding funerals.<p>

It was no secret that the priests in their town were not exactly happy (to say the least) about their arrangement with the _Wolfenhexe_. After seeing how the witch had dealt with those beastmen and ogres though, their clergymen quickly quieted down. Johan supposed that it was a good thing that their local Sigmarite Priest, Father Adelbert was no longer around to ruin this arrangement. Shaking his head, Johan remembered the war party the priest had led and that a few days later, they had found the grisly remains of the priest's crusade, so much for purity and faith being enough to turn the tides.

For a long moment, he rested his hands upon the back of his hand with his palms placed on the top end of the bow. He couldn't help but quite stop thinking about the witch; he became more than a little aroused at the thought of the mysterious woman of whom he did not even see the face of. What he had felt that night was possibly better than anything he had with any of the women he had known, he realized that he wanted to see the witch again.

Already, the town had set up a simple system where at the beginning of the day they would gather at the center of town and pick up a stone from a large pot. Most of the stones were black but ten were painted with a red circle, those who picked up the red-painted stones would then draw straws to see who will be sent to the witch.

Hearing the loud creak of the wooden gates open, he looked down and saw two blonde haired figures walking out. He quickly recognized the two as of being the baker's children, Adalheid Wever and her younger brother Adalhard, both of whom were a few years younger compared to Johan who was nineteen winters of age. Originally, it had been the boy who had picked up the red-painted stone but his elder sister had insisted on accompanying her brother

Johan could not help feel a bit of unease and perhaps a bit of jealousy for the two of them, especially towards Adalhard. He had been scared as well on that first night but after that though, he could not help but think about being chosen next. The of the witch and the lad's sister on the other hand was… intriguing to say the least for he had Adalheid as of being rather pretty, despite her hoydenish behavior.

'Johan!' came the gruff voice of their Militia's Captain, Ludwig Schenck. Startled by the Captain, Johan nearly dropped his bow and he barely managed to catch it before falling off the palisades. 'Stop day dreaming lad!' said the Captain rather sternly 'it will be night soon and no doubt those damn beasts are going to try something again!'

'Yes sir!' nodded Johan quickly for it had been two nights earlier that they had been attacked by the beastmen and ogres.

Ever since then, there had been three other attacks as well, all of which ended with the mutants dying from either packs of giant wolves, swarms of bats which seemed to have no problem with the light of day and deadly clouds of poisonous gas. What was most disturbing though was that the witch had asked them not to touch the bodies of those slain and that soon after a battle was fought, the bodies would just disappear.

Father Hubert the local priest of Morr had been telling them that the Witch was a necromancer, a foul dabbler in magic which violated the sanctity of death. While many of the folk believed the priest of the Death God, none were eager to start a lynch mob just yet, not when the beastman war herd was still around. No doubt that would change once the crisis was over but for now, the villagers were content to sit and wait while the Priest of Morr grumbled and continued to watch the graves underneath the gardens of his god and make sure that its occupants stayed inside.

When the Militia Captain left Johan so he could check on the other guards, the huntsman continued to watch the dark forest as night fell. His mind would eventually turn back towards the Witch and he quietly hoped that next time, he would be chosen.

* * *

><p>Night was now falling across the world and the forest around Hjalmar and his warband began to become pitch black. While the everlasting were hardly hindered by something as mundane as light, the same could not be said for the Norscan Sorcerer Lord. Muttering a quick and simple spell, an orb of azure witch-light appeared above the head of Hjalmar.<p>

He heard gasps of surprise and sounds of awe from the beastmen which still followed his warband. The stupid creatures with their simple, animal brains would likely interpret this as some sort of blessing from Tzeentch. The Norscan shook his head with disdain for the spell was nothing more than a simple cantrip any apprentice Magus worth his salt could cast, he pressed on along with the Everlasting, deeper into the forest.

Upon the Winds of Magic, Hjalmar could already feel the presence of _Dhar_. The Dark Magic he felt was a refined thing, like the magic used by the _Druchii_ of Naggaroth, but it had been bastardized into something which was anathema to his master, Tzeentch. The Leech and its kin, the undead were beings of stagnancy and stasis, the magic which they used were a twisted form of the Amethyst Wind of _Shyish_.

Hjalmar remembered that baleful night when the fortress-library of his master had been breached. How the Leech managed to make it all way the there through the Chaos Wastes itself was a mystery to the Sorcerer Lord. Perhaps the Leech had been assisted by another Daemon Prince? One of his master's rivals? Or perhaps the Leech had been assisted by the followers of the other Dark Gods?

There had also been another intruder who accompanied the Leech, a warrior clad in blood-red armour which was shaped to resemble a Dragon. Together, both intruders had led a mighty army of the dead to lay waste to the his master's sanctum, several sections of his master's library had been burned and destroyed; primeval texts of sorcery from civilizations now long extinct were snuffed out in infernos of sorcerous fires.

His master, the Daemon Prince Wotan Ravens Eye had greatly been in enraged by the trespass and vandalism caused by these intruders. The Daemon Prince had made short work of the undead army but by the time the Daemon Prince had gotten through them, the Leech and the Red Dragon were nowhere to be found, and worse they had stolen one of his master's books. Such was the fury of his master that Daemon Prince began to obliterate several of the surviving Marauders, Beastmen, Warriors and Daemons with more than a few of Hjalmar's fellow sorcerers being killed off as well.

It was fortunate that each tome within his master's library had been subtly enchanted so that the Daemon Prince as well as a select few Sorcerer Lords (which Hjalmar himself was one) could "feel" its presence whenever it left their bastion. The Tome he sought was not far now, he could feel it calling to him, seeking to return home to the Wastes. He could not help but be curious though about the nature of the Tome itself, what sort of arcane secrets did it contain which would make someone traverse the Wastes and lay siege to a Daemon Prince's home?

He would find out soon enough he supposes. For now, caution was a necessity for it was even darker now; it was the time when the Leech's kind would awaken. He wondered with a bit of wariness if the Red Dragon was here as well, if such were the case then he was glad that he was accompanied by twenty seven of the Everlasting, they had started off with thirty but the long journey from the North had not been all smooth sailing.

Smelling the foul stench of one of the beastmen drawing close to his position, Hjalmar turned his gaze towards the creature which approached him. Looking to his left, the Sorcerer Lord saw an Ungor timidly approach, the creature bowed in subservience to him and spoke crudely in the Dark Tongue.

'Master…' spoke the beastman in a voice which seemed both rasping and guttural 'man-flesh near, two'. The Ungor then pointed towards the distance west of their position and the Sorcerer Lord quickly switched to his Witchsight to see what it was. His eyes saw the world no longer in the mundane colours of reality but instead he saw it through the Winds of Magic.

The First thing Hjalmar saw was the familiar spiritfire of himself which blazed brightly like a miniature star. He saw the spiritfires of the Everlasting and the powerful enchantments which bound their souls to their armour, the Sorcerer Lord saw those of the beastmen as well, they were dim candles compared to both he and the Everlasting. Shifting his gaze towards where the Ungor pointed, he saw two mortals, mere human children walking closely together as wolves which reeked with _Dhar_ were cautiously surrounding them but not attacking.

Curious thought the Sorcerer Lord for when the Leech and the Red Dragon had attacked his master's home, they had brought legions of skeletons, zombies and bodiless wraiths, but not wolves. Regardless, he saw that the two mortal youths were heading in the same direction where the Tome was. Were the two prisoners being taken to the Leech? If such that would mean that Vampire would need to feed, it would be weakened.

Quickly switching back to his mundane sight, Hjalmar cast his gaze to the Ungor who still looked upon the Sorcerer Lord with subservience. 'Tell your kin to follow those two' ordered the Sorcerer 'do not slay them yet, follow and report back to me, do this well and Tchar will grant you his favor.'

The Beastman's eyes widened at the mention of receiving glory from Tzeentch, the Ungor quickly bowed and scampered off. The sorcerer could hear its harsh, guttural voice speaking to the other beastmen and soon they began shouting praises to Tzeentch before running off. With a slight grin underneath his helmet, Hjalmar was pleased to have, as they say, killed two birds with one stone.

Not only did he rid himself of the beastmen whose presence annoyed him, there was a good chance that the dumb brutes would draw the attention of the thieving vampire. Hjalmar had little intention of helping the animals but once they start a fight with the Leech's minions, the Sorcerer Lord would be in a good position to study and gauge the strength of his adversary so he could plan accordingly.

* * *

><p>Cautiously looking over his right shoulder to see the wolves which followed them, Adalhard Wever could not help but notice that there was something unnatural about the animals. He could have sworn that the wolves had an intelligent glint in their eyes, something which went beyond the normal, animal cunning. He felt the grip of his older sister's right hand tighten around his own left hand, Adalheid gave him a nervous smile but he could see the barely concealed fear in her eyes, in her other hand, she carried a candle-lit lantern .<p>

Adalhard felt conflicted over his sister's presence here, on one hand; he was relieved to not be alone here in the forest with night falling. On the other hand, he felt like he was being babied by Adalheid who had done so since they were children, she had been protecting him from a lot of the other boys in town who were bigger and stronger than he. Warily looking to the wolves once more, Adalhard noted that the animals were no longer watching them, instead they were looking at something else.

One of the wolves gave a quick series of barks before the rest of the pack dispersed into the darkness, leaving the two of them alone. What could have driven them off? He thought with worry for the closest things they had to weapons were wood cutting hatchets. His answer soon came when a loud and dreadfully all too familiar bleating sound began to fill the air.

Beastmen! He thought with terror, as soon as the bleating began, the wolves began barking once more and there were shouts of pain and loud, high-pitched whines. He suddenly felt his sister tugging at his hand as she was trying to drag him away. No words were needed to be said as Adalhard allowed his elder sister to lead them way away from the ensuing battle between the beastmen and the witch's wolves.

The sounds of the fighting between the mutants and the wolves echoed across the night air. Mentally praying to Sigmar and Taal for protection, the baker's son and his sister ran as fast as they could, towards where the witch had laired and hoping that the _Wolfenhexe _would offer them shelter and protection.

Adalhard's heart began to pound like a drum within his chest, never had the boy run so fast in his life. His terror granted him speed as adrenaline coursed through his body, no doubt the same could be said for his sister. Quickly hearing the loud screeching of several bats ahead of them, Adalhard called for his sister to duck and she let go of his hand while dropping her lantern.

Swiftly throwing themselves to the ground as the swarm of bats flew passed them; Adalhard felt the painful impact as his body collided with the ground. Groaning in pain, the baker's son felt sore all across the front of his body, looking about to find his sister, he saw that Adalheid was also getting up.

'Are you all right?' rasped his elder sisters as she looked to him.

'I am' was all Adalhard said before another series of loud roars pierced the air. Looking back with mounting terror to see if the beastmen were following them, they could see nothing of the mutants who sounded like they were still struggling with the witch's pets. Hearing an audible footstep ahead of them, Adalhard's heart skipped a beat as he quickly turned to see what it was.

In front of the boy and his sister, past the meager light created by the lantern Adalheid had dropped, he saw a writhing mass of shadows moving within the darkness. 'It seems you children have come at a poor time' came a smooth and seductive voice from within the living shadows. Gently stepping out of the mass of darkness, Adalhard saw the witch of whom the folk of his town had made a pact with.

Just as the others had described the witch, the _Wolfenhexxe_ was barely clad in strips of fur garments while a mask of bone covered her face, emerald green light glowed from the eye sockets of the wolf skull. The witch's hands also glowed with the same baleful green light, her nails were long and sharp, and each one looked like they could be the points of a dagger.

'Run along now little morsels…' spoke the witch in a hissing voice without even looking at them, her gaze was focused on where the bats had flown to 'I shall be along shortly'. Not needing any further encouragement, both Adalhard retrieved the lantern his sister had dropped and both of them ran off into the woods, leaving the witch to deal with the beastmen.

As they ran, Adalhard began to hear a long, lone wolf howl which chilled him to his very soul…

* * *

><p>Watching intently as the battle between the beastmen and the wolves played out, Hjalmar noted a faint stirring within the Winds of Magic. Shortly after the fight had begun, he saw the swarm of bats which were also tainted by <em>Dhar<em>, descend upon the beastmen. Their bats harried the beastmen, attacking them with fang and claw as the remaining wolves savaged their legs and tried to bring the beastmen down.

The Everlasting were already moving around the Sorcerer Lord to form a defensive phalanx. Locking their shields with one another to form a formidable wall, they scanned the darkness around them with eyes which saw the world through Witchsight alone. Hjalmar continued to observe the battle and he saw the pattern of which the _Dhar_-tainted animals fought, it was clear to the Sorcerer Lord that they were being guided by a greater intelligence.

Could the Leech be near he thought? As he further surveyed the area and he saw that there was one lone wolf running towards the fray. This wolf he quickly noted was practically wreathed in _Dhar_ like a cloak while the Amethyst Wind of _Shyish_ had filled its very essence. The Vampire! He thought with surprise, the one who had stolen his master's tome!

Resisting the urge to order the Everlasting to mobilize, he thought that perhaps he should watch and see first. With his vision focused entirely upon this vampire which had taken the form of a wolf, Hjalmar was soon able to get a clear look at the creature which ran towards the beastmen, its fur was a fine glossy coat of purest black, its eyes glowed emerald green with _Dhar_ and he noted that its head was covered by a skull which was not its own. He saw the vampire leap onto the back of a gor which had dug its spear into another wolf, the vampire bit into the back of the gor's neck and it tore the flesh and fur off of the beastman and exposing its spine to the world.

The beastman roared in agony as the vampire-wolf's claws gouged great bloody rents into its back, Hjalmar noted that the vampire was using magic to imbue its own strength. The Sorcerer Lord had precious little experience in dealing with the blood-drinkers, from what he had read though, Vampires supposedly get stronger with age. Both he and the Everlasting then should probably expect to face an opponent with great, supernatural strength; he hoped that the enchantments upon their armour would hold.

The Vampire quickly leapt off of the back of the beastmen and it went towards a spear wielding Ungor which busy trying to keep back three wolves. The vampire lunged towards the back of the Ungor's right thigh and with one swift jerk of its head; it tore away the meat which covered the bones. The unfortunate beastman fell to its side and the wolves it tried to keep away were quick to begin tearing at its flesh.

The Vampire continued this series of assaults, it focused on the beastmen who were either battling several wolves at once or targeted those larger and stronger ones who were leading their kin. Hjalmar could see the further swirls of _Dhar_ in the Winds of Magic, the bodies of the wolves, bats and beastmen slain in the battle had begun to twitch as the Vampire infused their bodies with magic. The corpses soon began to rise back, the beastmen gave a low moan as they clutched their weapons or lurched towards their still living kin.

Quickly switching back to his mortal sight, Hjalmar ordered the Everlasting to advance. While he was confident that the claws and fangs of the bats and wolves would not be able to do any real harm to his warband, the addition of the now zombified beastmen could prove to be a fatal distraction against the vampire. Following the heavy steps of the Everlasting, Hjalmar began to draw upon the Winds of Magic, he would need to make this quick if they were to put the vampire down.

An aura of lightning surrounded Hjalmar's armoured body, the crackling electricity around his weapons intensified as Tzeentch granted him a small extra measure of power. The Sorcerer Lord heard the voice of a beastman cheering as the creature caught sight of the Everlasting; the morale of the beastmen was quickly bolstered as they began praising his name as well as that of his patron deity.

Several bats shifted their flight and they began to assail the Everlasting, their screeching and chittering proved to be nothing more than an annoyance to Hjalmar as their claws and fangs scratched against the helmets and armour of his master's warriors. Raising his staff high, Hjalmar whispered words of power and a stream of lightning burst out from the top of the staff. Several of the bats were struck by the jolts of electricity and their ruined bodies fell in charred husks which crumbled to dust as soon as they struck the ground.

Those wolves who were busy tearing into the flesh of beastmen had quickly set their gaze upon the Everlasting. A loud series of barks came from the black furred wolf he recognized as that of the vampire's and several of the wolves quickly ran off into the forest while those who clearly were undead, stayed and fight. One undead wolf leapt towards the left leg of an Everlasting, its jaws clamped down upon the enchanted steel greaves which had once protected flesh and bone.

With contemptuous ease, the Everlasting warrior thrust his enchanted sword into the undead wolf's back, the blade cut through its flesh and severed the spine as easily as if the warrior were cutting through air. Around Hjalmar, similar scenes played out, the undead wolves attacked the Everlasting who felt nothing of pain, the teeth and claws of the animals proved useless against their imbued plate armour. The zombified beastmen on the other hand proved to be of a slightly more dangerous prospect as they hurled spears, rocks and fired arrows at the Everlasting, most of which only scratched the enchanted armour of the Chaos Warriors.

The Everlasting cut down the zombified beastmen as easily as they had done with the wolves, the surviving beastmen continued to chant the name of Hjalmar and Tzeentch as they fought their undead kin with renewed vigor. Muttering more spells, the Sorcerer Lord obliterated more of the bats with fire and lightning, their furry bodies were reduced to ashes and bones. From his recent experience of fighting the undead, Hjalmar had learned that one of the best methods of destroying them was to either sever the head, cut up the bodies into several small pieces, burn them, or basically to do whatever it takes to make sure that there would be nothing left to bring back.

Bellowing an order to the Beastmen in the Dark Tongue and telling them to sever or destroy the heads of the dead, the Beastmen quickly obeyed and they fell upon the dead in a savage frenzy of ripping, tearing and smashing. Soon the forest became silent as the last of the undead were slain, the only sound Hjalmar could hear was the ragged breathing of the beastmen and wind blowing against the leaves.

'Regroup and march!' commanded the Sorcerer Lord and with perfect precision, the Everlasting reformed their previous marching formation. Time was of the essence now; they needed to be swift lest the Vampire escape into the night with the Tome in hand.

* * *

><p>With paws swiftly landing upon the grassy earth, Meike von Königsbrandt continued to run in her lupine form, the remnants of her pet wolves were following her back to the cave. Despite having the advantage of speed, the vampire knew that she did not have much time to prepare her defenses. Already, the vampire was focusing her will upon the bones which littered the entrance of her current home.<p>

As she ran, she could feel each of the bones begin to vibrate as dark magic began to infuse them. The skeletons of beastmen, skaven, ogres, greenskins and a few humans were already slowly pulling themselves together to form up into her own personal army. Already, she had plotted out how to deal with these northern barbarians, all she needed to do now was to get them to cave, once they were inside the trap would be sprung.

Continuing to run at full pace, she picked up the smell of the two mortals the villagers had sent to her. Although she had fed the previous night and had need of only one of the mortals this evening, the vampire supposed that if things get rather difficult, she could use a second helping. Literally barking commands towards her pets, the pack of wolves changed their course to face the mortals.

As they drew closer to the two, Meike could see their heartfires and smell the fear on them, as intoxicating as it normally was, the vampire had little time to savor it. Loudly barking towards the mortals, she saw them turn their heads towards the pack of wolves. The vampire noted that one of the mortals, the girl was trying to protectively place herself in front of the boy who was clearly the girl's sibling.

Willing her body to change back to its normal shape, Meike felt the familiar agony as her bones crumbled to dust and began to reshape itself. With a loud hiss of pain, the muscles and tendons beneath her flesh began to twist as well while clumps of fur fell off to reveal smooth, pale skin. The transformation took only a few moments, she had been moving when it began but never did her step falter and with a graceful step forward, she stood still for moment.

Standing upright upon her own bare feet, Meike placed her hands around her head and gently cracked some of the kinks out of her neck bones. Lowering her gaze upon the mortals who were a bit shorter than she was, the vampire imposed her will upon the two who had been staring at her in both horror and morbid fascination, no doubt the boy was looking at other things as well for the wolf skull was the only thing which remained on Meike. Easily dominating their minds, she then commanded them to follow her.

No other words were needed to be said as the two youths obeyed the vampire, already she could feel the power of the Chaos Sorcerer who led the warband to be drawing closer. No doubt that the Sorcerer would be tracking her position through Witchsight. By all means then she thought, let them follow her, for she was ready for them.

* * *

><p>The pursuit of the Leech not take Hjalmar and his warband very long. They soon arrived at the mouth of a cave which was saturated with <em>Dhar<em>. The Sorcerer Lord also noticed that the ground was completely churned up outside of the the cave; no doubt the Vampire had an army of undead minions inside. This would be the perfect sort of place for a trap he thought, looking towards the remaining beastmen which had followed him, he gave the creatures orders to enter the cave.

The Beastmen obeyed Hjalmar and they converged around the entrance of the cave while Sorcerer Lord checked for any sort of arcane defenses. Through his Witchsight, Hjalmar saw no particular forms of magical traps or glyphs which would unleash a deadly spell upon the unwary. What caught his eye though was that amidst the presence of refined _Dhar_, he saw the raw, solidified essence of Chaos itself, Warpstone.

There was a large amount of Warpstone within the cave he realized with interest for the Sorcerer Lord was quite knowledgeable in the ways of alchemy and the forge. With all that Warpstone, he could brew powerful elixirs or craft mighty weapons for his master's army. Perhaps this quest was not a waste of time after all he thought with an avaricious grin.

Looking upon the weak spiritfires of the beastmen as they began to cautiously enter the cave, Hjalmar watched and waited to see what the vampire had in store for them. Nothing happened at first as they moved deeper into the cave where he felt the presence of the Tome; he was relieved that at least, it had not been moved yet. Eventually, the Sorcerer Lord caught sight of a series of skeletal constructs; each one carried an object which reeked of Warpstone. At a closer look, Hjalmar noted that the skeletons were those of Skaven and immediately he knew what weapons they carried.

The skeletal skaven hurled their deadly glass spheres of poisonous warpstone gas towards the beastmen. In mere seconds, several of them fell, twitching and writhing as blood pooled within their lungs and throats. Those beastmen at the front who had managed to avoid the gas were quickly fighting their way back and trying to get out of the cave but those who were at the back of the group misinterpreted their kin's sudden violence as treachery.

The beastmen quickly fell into fighting one another like orcs, they ended up slashing and stabbing at one another in the dark as the skeletal skaven hurled more of the poisoned globes. Annoyed at how useless the beastmen turned out to be, Hjalmar ordered the Everlasting to cut a path through them. The ghostly warriors obeyed and they grouped up into a phalanx formation while the Sorcerer Lord remained outside with two of the Everlasting to watch him.

In perfect unison, they stepped forwards, into the cave with their armoured legs moving in symmetry. The beastmen looked to the Everlasting with hope at first but their hope soon turned into confusion and fear as the Everlasting brought their enchanted weapons down upon the beastmen. Caught between the bulwark of daemon-steel and the further explosions of poison gas clouds, the beastmen fought with the desperation of cornered rats, the irony was not lost upon Hjalmar.

In the end, their resistance proved useless for each of the Everlasting had once been a mighty Warrior of Chaos who had fought in countless wars. Each of them had retained all of their knowledge and skill of battle and warfare, each of them were no longer bothered by the mundane weaknesses of flesh and blood. As the screams of the beastmen eventually died down, the Everlasting continued to walk further into the cavern, the poison gas which had killed so many beastmen had no affect on the Warriors who even had no need to breathe in the first place.

The skeletal skaven quickly backed away from the Everlasting, Hjalmar may have interpreted this as the usual cowardice of their living kin but in the case of the Vampire though, it seemed likely that they had something planned. The march of the Everlasting was slow but steady as the cavern seemed to become more narrow.

Eventually, they came to what seemed to be a hastily erected series of barricades made from bones. Behind the barricades, Hjalmar saw more skeletal Skaven, each one seemed to be armed with a variety of the deadly weapons used by the ratmen. Two pairs of the skeletons carried a device he recognized as a Warpfire Thrower while another two pairs carried the rotating black powder weapons called Ratling Guns.

The undead ratmen operated their weapons as proficiently in death as they had done in life, the Warpfire throwers unleashed gouts of liquid, emerald fire which super-heated the armour of the Everlasting. Arcane runes of protection placed upon the armour of the Chaos Warriors glowed brightly as they tried to protect their owners; many of those which had not been imbued with spells of fire resistance eventually were overwhelmed. A number of the Everlasting at the front, whose bodies shielded their comrades behind them, fell to their knees as the armour which housed their souls was reduced to molten metal, those who marched behind pushed ever onwards, heedless of their losses.

In such an enclosed space with little to no cover to use, the Everlasting were forced to rely upon their shields and armour but it was known that the ratmen imbued their insane sciences with debased sorcery. The Ratling Gunners opened fire upon the Everlasting and the hail of bullets they unleashed were enough to stagger and knock back the ghostly warriors whose armour began to become dented before being torn up. Each bullet he saw was a glowing piece of sharpened warpstone, each one proving rather effective in tearing up the Chaos-imbued armour of the Everlasting.

Before Hjalmar knew it, nearly half of the Everlasting had been destroyed before one of the skaven flame weapons suddenly exploded in a ball of green fire. With a quite word of thanks towards Tzeentch, Hjalmar saw that the other weapons crews had been caught in the explosion as well with only one of the Ratling Gun crews still remaining. The skeletal gunners continued their volley of fire until steam began to hiss out of the gun and like the fire thrower, it exploded.

Thankful as well that the technology of the skaven was also at times, unreliable, Hjalmar watched the remainder of the Everlasting press on. Those who had survived were sporting various rents in their armour or patches of melted steel, the magic which kept the souls imprisoned and the suites of armour animated was now bleeding out. Hjalmar's thankfulness quickly turned into muttered curses as the damage that had been done was just too much.

It was highly likely now that even if he does get the Tome back, he would only have two of Everlasting, the ones who stayed behind to protect him as his protectors back to the Chaos Wastes. Ordering the remaining Everlasting who had gone inside to press on further, he felt the stirring of _Dhar_ within the cave. The survivors soon came into a chamber which was littered with various pieces of broken machinery, waiting at the other end of the chamber though, Hjalmar saw dozens of skeletal warriors waiting for the Everlasting.

Seeing the bones of greenskins, beastmen, skaven, ogres and a few human ones standing in serried ranks, the Sorcerer Lord saw what looked to be a mummified Ogre leading them. The Ogre mummy lifted a huge cleaver towards the Everlasting and it gave a silent command to charge. The remaining Everlasting marched on without a word, as did the skeletons, no war cries were shouted, no orders were made, only the sounds of their boots and skeletal feet stepping upon the cavern floor.

When the two silent armies met, their blades clashed in showers of sparks as bones were crushed and pulverized into dust. Despite the damage they had sustained, the Everlasting still proved to be more than a match for most of the skeletons, the only ones who were of any sort of real threat were the Ogres, Orcs and larger breeds of Beastmen. The undead though had numbers and it was clear that they were not mindlessly attacking the Everlasting.

Skeletal goblins, skaven and ungors leaped on to the Everlasting, trying to throw off the swings and thrusts of their attacks while the larger skeletons brought their weapons to bear. Cursing once more at this quick change of fortune, Hjalmar knew that he would be unable to claim the book now. He would have to find the nearest warband of either Beastmen or Warriors from the Brass Keep and garner their support.

With one last look into the cave, Hjalmar sought the vampire who led this army. Following the traces of _Dhar_ and_ Shyish_, he was able to find his nemesis who was sitting cross-legged upon a fur rug while the spiritfires of the two mortals he had seen earlier were nearby. Focusing his vision upon the Vampire so that at the least he could get a good look at it, Hjalmar became surprised to see that the vampire was not one of the two who had attacked his master's sanctum.

As his Witchsight became so focused to the point that he may as well have been looking at the vampire with his own eyes, Hjalmar saw that it was pale skinned, aristocratic looking woman who was wearing nothing at all. The skull of a wolf lay near the vampire woman whose eyes blazed with the emerald green light of necromantic magic. Her lips moved parted and moved as she whispered spells which either reanimated the fallen skeletons or further imbued them with magic.

Switching back to his normal sight, Hjalmar shook his head to banish the momentary disorientation before looking towards the entrance of the cave. This was not over he thought with cold anger, he would come back with a true army and when he did, he would offer the bloodsuckers' soul to Tzeentch. Ordering his last two Everlasting to follow him, Hjalmar left the cave entrance, plotting his revenge.

* * *

><p>Watching with fear as unnatural light filled the eyes of the <em>Wolfenhexxe<em>, Adalhard and his sister could not help but stare at this unnatural display of witchcraft, they knelt and pressed themselves upon a smoothed, round corner of rock wall. Father Hubert had been right; the witch was indeed a necromancer for the bones of the dead had begun to move at her command. The sounds of fighting outside soon died down and an eerie silence filled the cavern.

The glowing light on the eyes of the witch eventually began to flicker and dim until they saw a pair of shining obsidian orbs. The witch then just blinked for a moment and she looked at them with a predatory smile which caused Adalheid to tighten her protective embrace around him, the side of his face was pressed tightly upon his sister's chest. The witch slowly got up to her feet, her form was illuminated by the dying candle in his sister's lantern.

Seeing the witch of whom was not only completely naked now but also very attractive in the way noble-born girls are, Adalhard could not help but feel more than a bit aroused. The witch slowly walked towards them, the boy noticed that there was a slight wobble in her steps as if somewhat drunk.

'They are all gone now' said the witch in a regal voice 'my pets will keep watch for anymore that seek to trespass within my home.' The witch knelt down on one knee in front of the two of them and Adalhard struggled not to keep his stare at the witch's lady parts. 'So which of you children are here to keep me warm this night?' questioned the witch.

'I am, ma'am' replied Adalhard with nervousness and he felt his sister's grip tighten a little.

'Take me instead!' Adalheid suddenly then said with a mixture of fear and desperation.

'How touching' said the witch as she stroked a bloodied finger upon his sister's cheek. 'Unfortunately I am absolutely famished now' the witch then said as she smiled and the boy noticed the unusually long fangs she had, Adalhard quickly realized with terror what the witch truly was.

'Don't worry too much though little morsels' the _Wolfenhexxe_ then said with a smile which was rather predatory 'I will make sure that both of you will only have sweet dreams for tonight…'


	3. The Hersir

Bending down on one knee and placing a broad hand into the fetid pile of seared entrails which lay before him, Harald Blood Caller could tell that the beastman corpse was less than a day old. By his guess, it looked like the beastmen tribe had been camping down for the night and then something suddenly came in and attacked them. This was the third tribe they had found in four days, judging by some of the tracks; it seemed that all of the beastmen had been slaughtered, not that he would really care.

The Hersir's skin was fair like most Norscans with hair of golden blonde and blue eyes; his body was covered in a variety of scars, some were ritual in nature but most others were gained in battle. He was a tall man by the standards of the Norse, probably almost as big as a Kurgan with the physique to show for it. What was most distinguishing about him though was that his left arm from down the elbow, formed into a chitinous blade of bone.

Harald's head was protected horned helmet carved from human bone and forged from iron. His well toned body was mostly laid bare with only a fur kilt which reached to his knees, large spiked pauldrons upon his shoulders, an iron brace on his right wrist and boots. The only armour he wore to protect his torso was a large metal disc placed over his chest which proudly displayed the Blood God's sigil, the disc was held in place by a harness of cured animal hide. His most prized possession though was his _Ulfberht_ which according to the lore of his clan, had been forged by the _Dawi Zharr_.

'What do you see Hersir?' asked the voice of one his bondsmen, a Marauder named Vilod Korregson who was his second-in-command.

'The daemon was here' replied Harald, all around them they found the telltale signs of the so called daemon-elf. The skull of such a mighty thing would make for an excellent offering to Blood God, Khorne.

For weeks now the children of Plague Father have been flocking to the banner of one of his Greater Daemons, it seemed though that they have been suffering from more than a few setbacks. The failures of those disease ridden pus-bags were of little interest to Harald whose warband had emerged from the Brass Keep. For many days and nights they had been raiding and pillaging the towns and villages of The Empire who had only put up a pathetic excuse of any proper defenses.

Already his warband have laid claim to much in the way of loot and slaves, they had even gathered many skulls to offer to Khorne's throne. When he had heard the tales which the beastmen tribes have been telling, it piqued his interest enough to halt with the raids. The tales of this daemon which took the form of an elf intrigued the Hersir for surely to best one of the Blood God's own children in single combat would elevate him in the eyes of Khorne.

Unfortunately though, despite Harald's own considerable skill in tracking prey, it seemed that the daemon-elf had proven to be surprisingly elusive. Looking over his shoulder and towards his warband, he commanded his "pet seer" to come forwards. The crowd of Marauders parted ways to allow a woman clad in ragged fur robes with her head covered by a brass mask which depicted the face of a snarling Bloodletter.

A slight jingling of metal chains followed with each step from the Seer for runic brass manacles had been placed around her slim wrists while a heavy collar of a similar material but with an even more potent enchantment was placed around her neck. Narrowing his eyes in scrutiny as he studied the expressions of his Marauders, Harald was on the look-out for any of them who may be thinking of paying a "nightly visit" to the Seer. The Hersir had forbidden his warriors from getting intimate with the Seer for many of her powers were tied to her remaining pure.

The Seer then bowed to Harald as she came to him and asked in a husky tone. 'What is your command, Hersir.'

'Use your powers, Hag' commanded Harald sternly with contempt in his voice 'see where the daemon's trail leads.'

The Seer obeyed and she knelt over the corpse of the beastman he had been inspecting, delicate hands which ended in long finger-nails waved around the spilled guts as the Seer began to enact a spell. As much as sorcerers and magicians disgusted Harald of whom was a devotee of Khorne, he had to admit that magicians had their uses. The Seer in particular was well versed in the mystical ways of scrying as well as alchemy, there was also the fact, one which especially repulsed Harald was that both the Seer and himself shared the same blood by way of their father and mother.

Feeling that skin tingling sensation of sorcery at work, Harald watched as the Seer began to violently convulse and spasm as the vision was upon her. The Marauders of Harald's warband kept their distance; they carefully fingered the hilts of their weapons for it was not uncommon for sorcerers and shamans to suddenly become possessed or to mutate into feral Chaos Spawn during spells like this.

'**HE WAS HERE!**' boomed the unnaturally deep voice of the Seer as hellfire blazed from her brass mask '**THE MARKED OF THE BLOODY HANDED ONE WAS HERE! A PATH OF BLOOD AND FIRE WEAVES TO THE West!'**

The hellfire within the Seer's eyes then began to fade away and she collapsed to the bloody ground, sobbing with pain. 'Please…' came the sniveling begging of the Seer 'kill me… end this pain… brother.'

Angered at this weakness which one of his own blood would display, Harald slapped the Seer with the flat of his bone bladed left arm. Although Harald hardly felt the impact, he sure knew that the Seer would feel it. The Seer slammed upon the ground near the body of a beastman, the Marauders of his warband laughed with amusement but were quickly silenced as Harald gave them a serious look.

'I told you to never call me that, Seer' spoke Harald with disdain as he turned his back on her and faced north.

'We march to northwest! Commanded the Hersir and his warband roared praises to the Blood God.

* * *

><p>Looking upon their guests with a mixture of fear and awe, the warherd of Ebergor welcomed the mighty Sorcerer Chief of the North who bore the favor of the Raven God, the patron deity of their tribe.<p>

'We welcome you, blessed of Tchar' rasped the Bray-Shaman in the Dark Tongue with great formality as he bowed with a clawed left hand over his heart.

'Your hospitality is appreciated, faithful of Tzeentch' replied the Sorcerer Chief named Hjalmar Stormcrown who was clad head to toe in armour and robes.

'What brings a mighty champion such as yourself to our most humble of tribes?' asked Ebergor in the Dark Tongue. Like many of Ebergor's tribe, most of them had been born to "human" parents and had even lived in their towns for a time. All eventually either abandoned to die in the woods or were cast out at the moment even the slightest sign mutation began. The Beastman Chieftain in particular had once gone by the name of Eberhart von Kleins, an officer in the Imperial Army, but that was all in the past now, a life which the Chieftain barely remembered.

'I have come here on a quest for my master, the Daemon Prince, Wotan Raven's Eye, ascended by the hand of our Lord, Tzeentch' answered the Sorcerer Chief and the beastmen around them began to whisper excitedly at the chance of gaining notice from one of the truly favored of the Gods.

'And what sort of quest is this?' eager;y asked the Bray-Shaman.

'Something valuable' replied Hjalmar in a straight to the point manner 'a vile leech, an undead drinker of blood has stolen something of value from my master'.

'And pray tell, what sort of valuable item is this?' rasped the Bray-shaman with an avaricious glee.

'Something I will just say is valuable' answered the Sorcerer Chief more sternly 'assist me in this and my lord will reward you all for the Cabal of the Raven's Eye are masters in the way of the forge and alchemy.'

Once more the crowd excitedly chattered amongst each other, the idea of mighty weapons being being bequeathed to them was enough to spur their avarice. Ebergor raised his right hand to silence the crowd and they reluctantly obeyed.

'I think we can come to an agreement' grinned Ebergor whose yellowed teeth were still quite human, despite his head having over the years, painfully altered into the shape of a goat's.

'Then in the name of Tzeentch' spoke the Sorcerer Lord as he brought up his left gauntleted hand and one of the Chosen silently stepped towards the Sorcerer while drawing a heavy knife. 'Let us seal our pact' finished the Norscan and the Chosen warrior gently removed the gauntlet to reveal a ghostly pale hand which pulsed with blue glowing veins underneath the flesh. The Chosen then cut the exposed palm of the Sorcerer Lord who held out the bloodied hand towards Ebergor.

The Beastman Chieftain nodded and placed his own left hand in front of his face. Biting deeply into the calloused flesh, he ignored the pain as the deliciously copper taste of blood filled his tongue and nostrils. Mirroring the gesture of the Sorcerer Lord, Ebergor firmly grasped the Norscan's hand and sealed their pact in blood.

A brief tingle of energy passed through the hand of Ebergor and instinctively, he knew that the Sorcerer Lord had worked some spell. The Chieftain would have to consult his Shaman if some sort of spell had been placed on him.

'So where do we begin?' asked Ebergor as the Norscan placed his gauntlet back on. The Sorcerer Lord then reached down to something tied to the side of his belt and he removed a tuft of black fur which smelled all wrong to the Beastman.

'We begin with this…' answered the Sorcerer Lord.

* * *

><p>Leading the way as they followed the general direction of where the daemon-elf had gone, Harald Blood Caller noticed an all too familiar charge in the air, there was sorcery was at work close by. It seemed that some of his "fellows" from the Brass Keep may be around, weakling Tzeentchians most likely. The idea of picking a fight with these dabblers of cheap parlor-tricks was highly tempting to him for the Hersir and his warband had not had a good fight in a while since the beginning of this hunt.<p>

His warriors had spilled only a paltry amount of blood and their offers of skulls were no doubt meager in the eyes of the Blood God. Some of his warriors had grumbled about offending Khorne with their laxity but none had yet to openly challenge Harald. Perhaps splitting the skulls of some weakling spell-weavers would reinforce their loyalty he thought.

'Change of plans!' roared Harald and he saw the eager looks in the eyes of his warriors for they too should have felt the familiar sorceries at work. 'Let us divert ourselves by killing whatever Sorcerer skulks in these woods!' commanded the Hersir and the response he was just what he wanted.

'Skulls for the Skull Throne!' roared the marauders who were eager for battle.

Looking to the Seer who silently followed them save for the jingle of her manacles, Harald quickly commanded the Seer to use her powers once more. Arcane syllables were whispered from beneath the daemonic mask of the Seer whose eyes alighted with hellfire once more and an unnatural wind blew from her. Trees rustled while the beards and hair of the Marauders were blown by the magic wind, the spell of the Seer soon ended and a unnerving silence filled the area around them.

'A Sorcerer of the Changer of Ways lies north of us' hissed the Seer in pain 'The Children of the Gods accompany the Sorcerer, I felt that they are preparing a spell of their own… you can catch them by surprise.'

'Offer their skulls to Khorne!' roared Vilod with barely controlled bloodlust as he raised his mace to the sky 'death to the weakling tricksters of the Raven God!'

Roars of approval were voiced by the marauders around them, much to Harald's annoyance; he would not be surprised if Vilod would now be getting thoughts of becoming the new Hersir. Well let him try thought Harald for while the followers of the other Gods may attempt to use subtle and cowardly assassinations, among the followers of Khorne, a face to face duel would be the only acceptable form of usurpation.

'March!' commanded Harald and the Marauders eagerly obeyed.

Following the Seer's direction, the Khornate warband headed east, each warrior moving with a finely honed degree of stealth like a hunter stalking game. Despite the now setting sun and the darkness which was falling over the world, many of the marauders were able to navigate the through the foliage of the forest around them. Soon they came upon the familiar markers which signaled the territory of a Beastman tribe, fetishes made from bones, dung and rotted meat were placed upon the forest floor or were dangling from the trees.

In the distance, Harald saw the azure glow of witch-light and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand as gooseflesh broke out upon his skin. Tightening his grip upon his sword, the Hersir gave quick orders to his warband to spread out into groups. His Marauders obeyed with the most skilled and veteran amongst them forming around the Hersir, they would be the tip of the spear in this attack while the others would be the sword held in the off-hand.

Swiftly looking back to the Seer who was brought close to a gnarled tree by one of the Marauders, a young warrior named Hendrig who was now busily preparing a length of chain and an iron spike to bind the witch to the tree. Better to be safe than to be sorry thought the Hersir, he could not risk allowing the Seer to run away for her powers were valuable to him. If they were killed though than it would no longer be his problem if the beastmen or whatever other creatures within the Drakwald found the Seer.

'Blood for the Blood God' growled Harald as daemonic runes etched upon his sword began to flare with its bound magic.

'Skulls for the Skull Throne!' replied the warriors around the Hersir with each of them giving into the blood rage of Khorne.

* * *

><p>Seated cross-legged with the Herdstone of the beastman tribe to his right, Hjalmar Stormcrown whispered words of power as his right hand held on to his staff and the left held on to the tuft of fur left behind by the Vampire. He needed to know what exactly he was dealing, what were the strengths of weaknesses of this one for from what he knew about their kind, the Vampires supposedly had different abilities depending on the individual in question. Near the Sorcerer Lord, the Bray Shaman of the tribe along with a number of its disciples were also muttering incantations to assist Hjaalmar.<p>

The Winds of Magic gathered around them while at the same time, they drew power from the herdstone. To those who did not follow the Gods of Chaos, such raw magic would be dangerous, perhaps even suicidal. The servants of the Dark Gods though had no fear for such a thing and in the eyes of Hjalmar, it was yet another thing which proved how truly inferior the southling mages were.

Hjaalmar did not need to dilute the power of the Winds, he had could grasp the raw essence of magic itself and through it, he could summon storms of lightning, create raging infernos, alter the bodies of his foes and so much more. More raw magic began to fill Hjalmar and the beastman shamans, he could feel his mind opening up to the Realms of Chaos as his eyes switched to Witchsight and with it, he sought to gaze up to the heavens and interpret the very tapestries of Fate. His concentration though would be interrupted when an unfamiliar voice echoed into his mind with a whisper.

'Be wary...' came the pained voice and the Sorcerer Lord focused his attention upon the speaker. Bound to a gnarled tree with brass cuffs and chains which bore the blood runes of Khorne, Hjalmar's sight brought him to look upon a robed Witch who was marked by the Gods.

'Who are you?' demanded the Sorcerer Lord as he looked upon the witch who wore a fearsome daemonic mask.

'Who I am is of little importance, Chosen of Tchar' whispered the Witch with a pained voice 'a group of Marauders, dedicated to the Blood God are coming for you, defend yourself.'

Swiftly casting his gaze to the area around his physical body, Hjalmar saw the spiritfires of several groups of men who bore the Mark of the Blood God. Muttering a curse, Hjalmar swiftly sent thoughts of warning to the Bray Shaman and its disciples before returning to his physical body. A moment of disorientation and dizziness came over Hjalmar as returned to his body too quickly and he swiftly began announcing the danger to the Beastmen.

'To arms!' roared the Sorcerer Lord 'we are under attack!'

The Beastmen looked to Hjalmar with surprise in their eyes before the air was suddenly filled with the loud shrieks of of their kin. Looking to where the shriek had come, Hjaalmar saw several of the Beastmen get cut down by multiple groups of fair skinned men wearing the distinct garments of Marauders. These unexpected warriors were shouting praises to the Blood God as they hacked, slashed and maimed the Beastmen.

In response, the Beastmen fought back with praises dedicated to Tzeentch. The last of the Everlasting which guarded Hjalmar were quick to place themselves between the Sorcerer Lord and the direction from which the Khornate Marauders were coming from. 'We cannot allow them to interfere!' commanded Hjalmar who swiftly drew his sword from its sheath and arcane lightning began to dance around it.

The two Everlasting silently obeyed Hjalmar and they began to advance with weapons and shields at the ready. The Beastmen Chieftain of whom had made the blood pact with Hjalmar was quick to rally its kin while brandishing a heavy spiked mace. More blood was spilled as the followers of the Dark Gods clashed, the warriors of Khorne fought with a frenzied fury which matched the animalistic rage of the Beastmen.

Among the combatants, Hjaalmar lifted his staff and pointed its head at the Khornate Marauders while hissing arcane syllables which caused sparks of lightning to dance around his body. Finishing the spell with a shout, a bolt of warp lightning surged from the head of the staff and it struck down three Marauders at once with each one knocked off of their feet. The bodies of the marauders who had been struck by the chain lightning were immediately incinerated into blackened husks which exploded into a cloud of ashes as they struck the ground.

The raw magic from the Herdstone and the Winds itself still filled Hjaalmar who was now focusing it to empower another spell. Bolts of lightning and fire leapt forth from his staff, each one felling a marauder of the Blood God. Contempt and disdain was all the Sorcerer had for the followers of Khorne who were little better than greenskins in his opinion.

A group of six marauders managed to cut their way past the Beastmen and reach Hjalmar who was still protected by his guards. One of the Everlasting who wielded a large broad bladed sword which misted with arcane frost was briefly staggered by the strike of an iron maul wielded by one of the Marauders. In return, the Everlasting swiftly slashed the midriff of the Marauder and the Khornate warrior fell in two with the upper half falling back and the lower half falling forwards.

The second Everlasting deftly parried a sword thrust before smashing a Marauder's horned skull with a mace which was wreathed in a shadowy aura. Another Marauder who was quick to take advantage of his comrade's demise had struck the Mace-wielding Everlasting with an axe which glowed and growled with the essence of a trapped daemon. A mighty screech of metal joined the cacophony of shouts and screams and the Everlasting swung its right arm towards the Marauder, its gauntleted spiked fist struck the axe-man with such force that the Marauder's head had practically been pulverized into a bloody mess.

Hjalmar swiftly thrust his sword downwards while barely managing to block the strike of a chitinous blade which was actually the left arm of another Marauder who thrust a bloodied rune-sword towards the helmeted head of the Sorcerer. Swiftly bringing up his staff to block the sword, Hjaalmar managed to parry the sword but had he been a mere millisecond late, the blade would have impaled his right eye. Feeling the painful impact as the blade-armed Marauder delivered a left knee kick which struck the breastplate of Hjalmar, the Sorcerer Lord gritted his teeth underneath his helmet as he grunted.

The two Everlasting cast their blazing eyes towards Hjalmar, the arcane Geas spells placed upon the two compelled them to focus their efforts on protecting the Sorcerer Lord. The sword-wielding Everlasting was struck from behind by a spear which shattered against the back plate of the spirit warrior which swung its blade backhandedly. The marauder who had wielded the spear had his head cleaved from the eye level with the upper part of the skull falling off; the brain matter within his skull had been flash frozen by the rime coated sword.

The Mace-wielding Everlasting though was more successful in assisting Hjalmar for the spirit warrior managed to block a decapitating sweep from the bone bladed Marauder's left arm. The marauder swiftly struck the legs of the Everlasting, his enchanted sword which easily cleaved through the hell-steel greaves. A look of surprise came upon the face of the Marauder but the man was quickly able to recover and duck in time to avoid having his skull caved-in by the Everlasting's shadow mace.

All of this happened in a matter of mere seconds and Hjalmar was swiftly able to recover from the knee kick. Hissing a curse in the name of Tzeentch, the Sorcerer wove a Hex which swiftly began to atrophy the muscles within the Marauder who had struck him. Much to his annoyance, Hjalmar felt his spell being resisted by the Marauder whose sword enveloped him in an invisible bubble of anti-magic.

Tightly gripping his sword, the Sorcerer cursed, knowing that he would have to put down this Khornate Marauder the old fashioned way. Striding towards the Marauder while pouring arcane power into his sword, Hjalmar had over the course of centuries, learned to fight with a sword as well as he did with spells.

Hjalmar watched as the Marauder slammed his bone bladed-arm into the shield of the Mace-wielding Everlasting while managing to slip the sword past the guard of the spirit warrior and slashing it across the chest. As the Sorcerer Lord took another step, the Marauder quickly glanced at him and swung his bone blade the Hjalmar while evading a swipe from the Everlasting. The Marauder proved to be surprisingly fast and at a closer look, Hjaalmar could see that this warrior was most likely the leader of the Marauder band.

'I am Harald Blood Caller!' announced the Marauder in the Norse tongue as he settled into an aggressive

stance. 'I am a Warrior of Khorne, a Hersir of the Brass Keep and a slayer of hundreds of men!' boasted the Marauder 'For ten years I have raided and pillaged the lands of this pathetic Empire, I have built hills of skulls and I have spilled lakes of blood! Wherever I go, wives are made into widows and children are made into orphans!'

Following the proprieties of their people in Norsca, Hjalmar switched to his native language and announced himself as well. 'I am Hjalmar Stormcrown! Sorcerer Lord of Tzeentch and vassal of the Daemon Prince Wotan Raven's Eye' said the Sorcerer with pride 'I have lived deep within the Chaos Wastes for centuries, I have crushed legions of warriors from across the infinite realm! I have bested Deamons and Champion in single combat! And I have no quarrel with you, dog of the Blood God!'

'Well that's a shame then, sorcerer' hissed the Hersir, Harald Blood Caller 'for your skull will make fine offering to Khorne!' and with that, the Marauder charged towards Hjalmar.

Rolling his eyes underneath his helmet, the Sorcerer Lord was hardly surprised that this Harald Blood Caller was yet another meat-headed brute who happened to be a good fighter, typical of the Blood God's followers. Focusing his magic by imbuing his bodily alchemy, Hjaalmar caused an exceptionally potent dose of adrenaline to begin pumping through veins. Hjalmar swiftly met the attacks of Harald Blood-Caller with unnatural speed and strength mixed with centuries of combat experience.

Their enchanted swords clashed in a shower of sparks as while his staff met the bone blade-bladed arm. The Hersir proved to be a ferocious and wild animal who attacked with such reckless abandon that the Sorcerer Lord could not anticipate his opponent's attacks. The Everlasting armed with the shadow mace was quick to assist Hjaalmar but even with the spirit warrior's assistance, the Hersir proved to be a difficult opponent.

The sounds of steel clashing the screams of pain from the wounded and the dying created an all too familiar cacophony which each side reveled in, yet amid the din of battle a loan mournful sound began to echo across the darkening sky. For a moment, the battle between the Tzeentchian beastmen and the Khornate marauders was paused and even the fight between Hjaalmar and Hersir had been halted. With eyes widening underneath his helmet, the Sorcerer Lord recognized that sound as the Winds of Magic began to shift with the Grey Wind of Ulgu forming an unnatural darkness around them.

'The Vampire!' hissed Hjalmar with alarm for he had still been unable to divine whatever strengths and weaknesses this particular leech had.

'A Blood-thief!?' hissed the Hersir with disdain for it was said that the followers of Khorne especially hated the Vampiric breed of undead. For a moment it seemed that the Hersir was torn between attacking Hjaalmar or facing this new foe, a decision was swiftly made as several skeletal warriors stepped out from the mystical darkness.

Unlike the undead Hjalmar had encounter two nights earlier of whom were mostly composed of various non-humans, these skeletons certainly had once been human and what was worse, many of them were imbued with powerful magic. Baleful green witchfires burned within the eyes of the dead, their weapons and armour were of a disturbingly familiar design. '_Norsii'_ muttered the Sorcerer Lord, the skeletal warriors had once been the distant ancestors of the Norscans when they had once inhabited these lands.

'_Draugar_!' roared the Hersir who soon began barking orders to his Marauders and they reluctantly formed ranks as the beastman chieftain did the same. 'This is not over, sorcerer' spat the Hersir with disdain towards Hjalmar as he regrouped with his warriors.

'Indeed' thought Hjalmar with contempt as he already began plotting on how to rid himself of these annoying brute.

* * *

><p>Having felt the stirring of raw magic within the Winds itself, it was not difficult for Meike von Königsbrandt to follow it. She had awakened earlier during the late day and had taken precautions in keeping the sun off of her. The Lady Vampire's minions had carried her upon a palanquin of bone with a canvas of tanned orc-hide to shade her from what little sunlight passed through the canopies.<p>

Now looking upon the gathering of chaos followers in her wolf form, the vampire had watched with amusement at the ensuing battle between the followers of the Dark Gods but the beast within demanded for her join the bloodshed. Normally, she would try to suppress the beast within but for now, she had decided to indulge it. Ordering her Grave Guard to advance, the ancient warriors who had been given to her as a gift along with the Grimoire marched in silence.

Imposing her will into the freshly slain bodies of the Chaos worshippers, she felt the dead begin to rise as zombified beastmen and marauders still clutched at their weapons. '**Kill**' was the only command she gave the zombies as the still living chaos worshippers descended upon the newly arisen with their weapons, tearing flesh and shattering bone. Keeping back to watch the flow of battle, Meike carefully surveyed the Chaos followers until she found the one she had sought.

Capturing the image of the Sorcerer Lord with her mind's eye and searing it into those of the Grave Guard, the undead warriors swiftly understood who their primary target was. Through her own Witchsight, Meike noted the presence of the Sorcerer Lord who had been studying her three nights earlier, it was quite obvious that this particular northman had led the attack upon her lair. The vampire howled once more into the night sky and sent commands towards the rest of her army.

Having woven the Wind of _Ulgu_ into an arcane shroud of darkness to conceal her troops, she watched with satisfaction as several more undead emerged from it. Ranks of skeletons and zombies marched and shambled towards the Chaos followers who in turn charged as a group towards the undead. Wolves and bats both living and dead had also appeared from the darkness, the former were splitting up to attack the flanks while the latter struck in swarms.

Loping after the nearest wolf pack, Meike bared her teeth, eager for the bloodshed ahead.

* * *

><p>Sweeping a his blade arm to the left and decapitating an undead Gor with several patches of flesh falling off of its skull, Harald was momentarily sickened when his face was sprayed with rotted meat and maggots which got caught into his beard. It almost as bad as fighting the diseased followers of Nurgle he thought with disgust. All around the Hersir, his marauders as well the Beastmen had set aside their conflict to face the undead who were now not far away from them.<p>

The sight of the undead filled Harald with a grim sense of mortality and outrage for he saw that many of them were equipped in ancient suits of armour which bore the craftsmanship of the Norse. It was an affront to his sensibilities that the honoured dead of their ancestors, rise once more and fight not under the banner of the Gods but under the will of this vampire which the Sorcerer had mentioned. Harald mentally swore to Khorne that he would find this leech and return all of its stolen blood to the Blood God!

'SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!' roared the Hersir, his Marauders responded with a mighty series of shouts as well as they crashed into the undead.

Bones were splintered and shattered as rotted meat was torn asunder; men and beasts fell against the blades, claws and teeth of the dead. This what every warrior of Khorne desires, thought Harald, a mighty battle against an enemy who knew nothing of fear, nothing of pity or remorse, a battle where it all came down to the purest of reasons to fight, kill or be killed.

The Hersir thrust his bone sword down in time block the spear of an undead goblin while swinging his _Ulfberht_ towards the midsection of a skeletal orc. His sword severed the spine of the undead orc which attempted to swing a rusted cleaver at Harald'd right leg but ended up going wide. With a swift sweep of his enchanted sword towards the undead goblin, he killed the greenskin again by severing its armoured head in half before moving on the next opponent.

Ahead of him, he saw several of the ancient norse skeletons whose eyes glowed with a green balefire, their weapons and armour, despite being rusted with age were so much like his own. He had heard many stories of the restless dead but he had never the things before, yet the _Draugar_ were an all together different thing. He remembered the sagas about how sometimes when a Champion of the Gods pleases his or her patron deity but is killed before ascending to daemonhood, sometimes, the Gods decided to bring back the champion as an undead.

Of course, the sagas he had heard of those who continued to fight even after death were the tales of those who still fought for the gods, not slaves of those who did not accept death. Thrusting his bone sword forward, he caught one of the _Draugar _in the chest, his strike shattered ribs and crumpled the bronze hauberk which protected it. A marauder to his left roared with Khorne's fury but his voice was reduced to a bloody gurgle as another of the _Draugar _plunged an ancient sword into the man's neck.

Allowing the _berserkgang_ to take over his senses, Harald continued to fight and batter at the Draugar with wild fury. More bones were shattered as he expertly parried, blocked, dodged and struck at the _Draugar_. A sword lashed out and cut him on the right waist but the pain only further heightened his rage.

Gritting his teeth and allowing his rage to take him further, he bashed the helmeted skull of the_ Draugar_ which had cut him before attempting to sever the neck of another but instead he ended striking the rim of a shield. He had to admit that for walking corpses, the _Draugar _were surprisingly good fighters, a shame that they did not have any meat and blood on them because the fight just did not seem complete without the satisfying feeling of rending flesh.

Stepping back to avoid a swing which would have decapitated him, Harald suddenly felt a great deal of pain explode on the back of his leg. Glancing down behind him, he saw a large, black furred wolf with obsidian eyes, its jaws were tightly clenched around the back of his right boots which was covered with thick furs. Blood stained its teeth as the wolf's jaws sank into the back of his shin above the ankle and the Hersir swiftly reversed the grip of his _Ulfberht_ and plunged it towards the skull of the wolf.

At the last moment, the wolf released its hold over his right leg and it backed off in time to avoid being stabbed in the head. The wolf with obsidian eyes quietly studied the Hersir and immediately he knew that this could be no ordinary beast. Turning around to face the creature, it took all of his rage and will to avoid stumbling down.

The battle raged on around them but Harald's entire world soon became only himself and this unnatural wolf which growled and bared its teeth. Revealing his own teeth and giving a threatening growl of his own, Harald took a deep breath and unleashed a mighty warcry which echoed across the forest. The wolf remained unfazed and it began loping towards him with an incredible speed.

Sweeping his bone sword low to slash at its head, he anticipated for it to either leap over his left arm or try to move left or right in attempt to evade it. The wolf then leapt over his bone blade and he thrust his enchanted sword at its slavering maw. He was sure that he would kill the wolf but in less than a second, he saw clumps of black fur swiftly fall off of the wolf's body and its form actually began to shrink before his very eyes.

His enchanted blade swept through only air and at the corner of his eyes, he saw a black bat flying up to the sky, screeching and chittering before being lost amidst the swarm of bats. '_**Fæn**_**_!_' **cursed the Hersir as he lost sight of the wolf which transformed into a bat, his eyes widened with surprised when the bat swarm began to form up into a swirling column and the creatures swiftly dived down at him.

Spouting another profanity, he tried to leap to his right but the pain of the wolf bite flared up intensely and the Hersir fell to one knee. Looking up with defiance to the oncoming swarm, Harald thrust his sword into the descending bats and impaled several of the creatures before they began to tear at what exposed flesh he had. Roaring in pain and anger, he began slashing at the bat swarm with each strike cleaving small bodies.

The bats continued to scratch and claw at the Hersir who felt an increasing amount of pain and frustration which further fueled his rage. The vision on his left eye suddenly went red and an intense pain exploded into his skull as he roared in agony. Slashing at the bat swarm with numbers which did not even seem to lessen as he slashed at them, the Hersir began to look to his left and right and he saw that several of his Marauders were being cut down, of the Sorcerer and his Chosen guards he saw no sign of but a few of the Beastman were still about.

As the bats continued to rake at his flesh, Harald heard heavy boot steps and he saw a number of _Draugar_ closing in with him. Trying to raise up his arm for another swing, the Hersir struggled to find the strength to do so for the countless wounds caused by the bat swarm had made him loose too much blood and his vision began to swim. Pain exploded into his right arm between his shoulder and the elbow as a spear stabbed into it while another struck his left thigh.

The third Draugar stabbed an ancient rune-etched bronze sword into his left arm in the same position as his right and effectively pinning the Hersir. His agony intensified as the sword wielding Draugar began to saw through the meat and bone of his left arm, copious amounts of blood gushed out as he roared in pain and his vision began to fail him. Harald began to lose consciousness and the next thing he knew, he could have sworn that he was being lifted up.

Breathing heavily as his berserk rage was now spent and pain began to overwhelm him, he caught a glimpse of the wolf again who was not sitting patiently in front of him. The wolf then stood up on its hind legs and it began to grow in size, clumps of its fur fell off of its body and this time he saw pale, ivory skin in its place. His mind could not process what was going on as his vision became hazier, he tried to speak, he tried to spit and curse at whatever it was he had fought and for a brief moment, everything became clear.

As his vision settled, Harald found himself looking upon the alabaster face of a rather beautiful woman whose cheeks and forehead was spattered with blood. The woman's eyes were obsidian pools of darkness which he could see not even see his reflection in, she gave him a wicked smile which revealed gore-stained teeth with long fangs. He tried to swing his sword at the woman and all he succeeded in doing was causing more pain as his right arm was still impaled by the _Draugar_'s spear.

'You should have stayed in Norsca, barbarian' whispered the woman emotionlessly and she placed her hands around his head. The woman's touch was mostly as cold as stone but he also felt the warm liquid of fresh blood upon her hands. At first, Harald thought that the woman was going to kiss him but then he suddenly felt an intense, crushing pressure upon the sides of his head.

'The Blood God will not have your skull, barbarian for you will have none to offer' was all she said and the pressure turned into agony. Harald screamed in pain and he tried to struggle but the _Draugar_ kept him immobilized. Blood poured from his eyes, his mouth, his nose and his ears as the bones of his skull began to crack and fracture.

In less than ten seconds, the head of Harald Blood Caller crumpled and exploded in a grisly shower of blood and meat.

* * *

><p>With an angry curse, Hjalmar Stormcrown could not believe that he was retreating from the Vampire, again. The beastmen had been surprisingly intelligent enough to flee when the tides of battle were turned against them; they had even somehow managed to get the Khornate Marauders to take the brunt of the undead assault. He had been surprised to see the large army which the vampire had brought, at the least though, there were none of the skaven weapons.<p>

Followed by the last two of the Everlasting, Hjalmar continued to flee along with the beastmen tribe before hearing the mental call again.

'Help me…' whispered a voice into his mind and the Sorcerer Lord instinctively knew that its source was nearby. Switching to his witchsight, he was quick to find the one who had warned him about the Marauders.

Ordering the Everlasting to investigate, the spirit warriors silently obeyed and they broke off from the group of Beastmen with Hjaalmar allowing them to lead the way. They soon found the Witch, tied to a tree by the same runic brass manacles he had seen. The Witch then looked to Hjaalmar and the Everlasting, her eyes were concealed by her daemonic mask.

'Help me…' whispered the Witch once more and Hjaalmar remained on the defensive.

'Who are you? And how did you get here?' questioned the Sorcerer Lord who still held on to his sword.

'Sigrid Fire-eye' came the muffled voice of the Witch 'I am… was the Seer and healer of the Blood Caller's warband.'

'You bear the power of Sight?' asked the Sorcerer Lord with interest for a Seer was just what he needed.

'I do… yes… please help me' pleaded the Witch 'release me from my bonds, I will swear to serve you, my lord.'

For a moment, Hjalmar weighed his options. On one hand, it had been a long time since he had taken an apprentice; the last one had been a promising student with a lot of potential but had gotten himself killed during duel against another apprentice. On the other hand though, this Seeress might slow him down and speed was of the essence.

'I know of the Vampire and the Tome you seek, Hjalmar Stormcrown' said the witch again with desperation in her voice 'release me and I will show you everything!'

Taken aback by the Witch's use of his name, the Sorcerer Lord was quick to order his Everlasting to cut the links. The Sword-wielding spirit warrior trudged towards the links which were bound the Witch to the tree and with an overhead chop and the clatter of steel upon the ground, she was partially freed.

'Take her and let's go!' commanded Hjalmar and the sword-armed Everlasting sheathed its weapon and grabbed the remaining length of chain. The Witch obediently followed the Everlasting and she turned her masked face towards the Sorcerer Lord.

'Thank you…' she spoke with a surprising degree of genuine gratitude.

'Do not thank me yet woman, when we are away from here, we will have a long chat, you and I' replied the Sorcerer Lord with a threatening edge in his voice.

'You have my thanks, regardless' said the Seeress without any fear of him.

Creasing left eyebrow underneath his helmet, Hjalmar Stormcrown soon could not help but feel rather curious about this strange woman.

* * *

><p>Watching as the bodies of the freshly slain rose up, Meike gritted her teeth in quite frustration as the Sorcerer was not amongs the dead. Several of the beastmen had escaped with those who remained to fight were most likely the weakest and perhaps even the dumbest members of the tribe. Although the night was still young and she would still have plenty of time to hunt them, she decided not to pursue for now as one of her sentries had spotted something nearing the Imperial Settlement.<p>

She hoped that they would stay away but doubted that such a thing was highly unlikely. She would have to prepare for the possibility of another confrontation with the Sorcerer and when that happens, she hoped that there would be no interruptions.

With a mental command to her army, the undead marched and shambled back into the waiting shadows. They left nothing but the bodies of those who could not be brought back, a feast for the crows.


	4. The Wolf

Underneath a cloudy midday sky, a crowd had gathered around the town center of Valdenhoff where an uneasy atmosphere had fallen over the people. Folks whispered in conspiratorial tones amongst one another as many of them were divided between the local citizens and refugees who had flooded into the settlement when the troubles began. The gloominess in the sky above matched the mood of the citizens as the town's Mayor along with representatives chosen by the refugees were preparing to speak about their current situation.

During the previous night, an altercation had broken out in one of the town's hostelries between the staff of a coaching inn and a group of refugees over rising food prices. The ensuing brawl had left dozens more in the care of the local clergies who were already greatly strained in dealing with the sick and the wounded. What was worse was that one of the patrols of militiamen and hunters had encountered more beastmen on the same night, leaving six men dead with several more wounded.

Now standing upon a wooden scaffold which was part of the gallows where criminals would be hanged, the Mayor rested his hands upon the rails as he surveyed the crowd gathered around him. For over twenty years now Jakob Hosse had done his best to govern and lead the people of Valdenhoff. He worked hard in making sure that people paid their taxes, followed the laws of the Empire and overall just do what he could to keep things in order.

The situation was truly dire now for a great beastmen herd was now perhaps a day or two away, according to the patrols they had sent. There had been talks about abandoning the town and trying to make it to Middenheim while others thought that perhaps they should try to make it to the neighboring provinces of Nordland or Reikland. It was all folly really for the forests were just infested with all manner of unnatural creatures; it would be a lucky man indeed who could even last a single night out in wilds, even if he did have friends to watch his back.

Calming his nerves, Jakob Hosse cleared his throat and he began calling for the crowd's attention. The whispers and conversations quieted down and eyes of the townsfolk looked to him, their eyes were filled with fear and uncertainty, the kind which could easily spark into a riot. And so the mayor began to calmly and loudly speak to everyone about their situation, he did not mince words or try to sugar-coat things, he simply gave it to them straight for there was no point now in lying and trying to make them think that everything was under control.

'I know you are all scared!' he said in the same tone he would often use during a speech 'and I will not lie when I say that I am too, but it is within our best interest if we remain calm and focus on shoring up the defenses of our fair town!'

'How are we supposed to survive when we barely have any food!' shouted a man in the crowd and several voices rose up in agreement.

'I am aware that we are in for some lean times!' replied the mayor as he raised his hands and gesturing for the crowd to listen to him and he continued 'and I know that things will not be easy! But if we are to survive this time of crisis we need to work together to ensure that we and our children will live to see another day!'

The crowd murmured with growing discontent but they remained overall silent as the Mayor still had his hands raised 'and that is why I ask that for every able-bodied man and woman to organize parties to go out into the forest and hunt or forage whatever they can find!'

This drew an expected uproar from the crowd as people loudly began question his very sanity. It was no surprise really for the tales of things within the forest had become even more troubling for there had even been sightings of Northmen and the dread armoured knights of the Ruinous Powers. When it seemed that the crowd was ready to burst into violence, a chill breeze flowed over them and the mayor could not help but shiver for a moment.

A sudden silence fell upon the gathered crowd and people began to hurriedly make way for a large group of armed strangers who where coming to the gallows. Craning his neck to see who these men were, Jakob's eyes widened when he saw that each one was heavily armed and wearing the ragged pelts of wolves. Wolf-kin, he thought with a mix or relief and perhaps even a bit of fear.

Throughout the northern realms of the Empire, especially in the lands of Middenheim, the Wolf-kin are honoured and feared by the common folk for their resolve in battling against the children of the Dark Gods as well as the Greenskins. Devoted followers of Ulric the Lord of Winter, the Wolf-kin are an insane band of warriors who share some similarities to the fanatical roving bands of Flagellants. Mentally giving thanks to god of battle, the mayor was hopeful that these warriors could prove to be their saviors.

Quietly surveying the war band of Wolf-kin to see whoever their leader was, Jakob saw a knightly looking warrior clad in a suit of grim-stained plate armour step forwards. The leader of the Wolf-kin wore a cracked wolf skull which covered his face, the snow-white pelt of the same beast covered his back and what was most notable about this leader's appearance was the steel warhammer which carried in one hand. The temperature suddenly seemed to drop as the leader of the Wolf-kin drew closer and the mayor could have sworn that his breath began to mist as if it were a cold winter's day.

'I am Albrecht Krieger, leader of this pack and we have come to aid you' announced the muffled voice of the Wolf-kin leader and a collective series of gasps could be heard amongst the crowd.

The name of this warrior, this Albrecht Krieger was known to many within Middenland and to the peoples who lived within the Drakwald, to many he was known as "The Howl of Winter". Bards sang sagas of the deeds of this old warrior who had been the doom of many of the Empire's foes. Beastlords, Orc Warbosses and Northman Chaos Lords have all fallen to the righteous hammer of the man who stood before the Jakob Hosse and soon the crowd began cheering praises in the name of Ulric.

'The Beastmen army draws closer' continued The Howl of Winter 'we will defend your town to the best of our skills, to either death or glory'.

'That… that is good news then, thank you my lord' whispered Jakob with relief as he bowed his head to the chosen champion of Ulric.

The Howl of Winter gave a slight nod before he turned away from the mayor, he heard the man begin to give orders to the townsfolk, organizing them rather efficiently into parties of hunters and foragers. He heard the man giving orders to the Wolf-kin to split up into smaller parties which would accompany the food gathering parties for security reasons. Quietly thanking the gods again, Jakob was glad that their town now had some proper protection, unfortunately there was another problem which quickly came into his mind.

What were they to do about their… "previous" protector?

* * *

><p>'Is everything in place?' asked Hjalmar Stormcrown as he looked down to his right and saw the masked witch, Sigrid Fire-eye who sat cross legged upon the stump of an ancient oak tree. Several small bowls containing a variety of magical reagents were placed around the Seeress and a bonfire crackled in front of her. The voices of the beasmen they had traveled with could be heard as the stupid creatures watched them with interest while the remaining two Everlasting dutifully stood guard around the Sorcerer Lord and the Seeress.<p>

'Everything is in order my lord' whispered the Seeress whose hands were now freed of her bonds.

'Proceed then' nodded Hjalmar as he stepped back and Sigrid began whispering an incantation in the Dark Tongue.

Observing the Seeress with academic interest, the Sorcerer watched as the woman picked out various objects from the bowls around her and she cast them into the bonfire. The reagents ranged from simple and mundane plants which had some hallucinogenic properties to more exotic ones such as a screaming mandrake root, the eye of Jabberslythe, the heart of Khorne worshipper, a bit of pus from the sores of a minotaur and other things. The final ingredient was the black tuft of fur left behind by the vampire and as the Seeress continued her spell, Hjalmar felt the raw Winds of Magic gathering around them.

'Breathe deep now, Hjalmar Stormcrown' spoke the Seeress as her eyes now glowed with daemon-fire 'breathe deep and know thy foe'

Nodding to the Seeress, Hjalmar stepped closer to the bonfire, the once orange flames transformed into a dazzling kaleidoscope of colours and a thick fumes began to emanate from it. Placing his hands around his helmet, the Sorcerer Lord removed the enchanted piece of armour and he felt the cool night air touch his cheeks as he rested the helmet on the side of his waist. He then inhaled the coloured fumes from the fires and he felt a strange tingling in his nose and in his head.

_For a moment, his vision began to swim as he suddenly felt a sense of vertigo; he looked up to the sky and saw the Winds of Magic which blew across world. His eyes rolled up to the back of his head as an arcane glow began to fill them and soon he began to view the world through his Witchsight. The stars swiftly moved and flew past him as the sun and the moons did the same, he was confused for a moment before he realized that they were moving in the opposite direction of what they normally should._

_His vision settled upon a dark tower nestled within the mountains far to the south, between the realms of the Empire and Bretonnia. In ancient times there was a magister, a great enchanter of whom even the Gods of Chaos themselves knew. Hjalmar saw the Enchanter's withered hand scribing upon a piece of ancient papyrus, arcane formulas and spells of mighty sorcery learned from a tome left behind by the Usurper King whose dread name was whispered across the deserts of the Land of the Dead._

_As many years passed, the Enchanter continued to study the dread lore which broke the bonds between life and death, all of this he would record in a tome of his own. In time, the Enchanter would make improvements, alterations and changes which were sublime in eyes of those learned in darker Lores. Eventually, the Enchanter would strike a deal with a figure all too familiar to Hjaalmar._

_He saw his master, the Daemon-Prince Wotan Raven's Eye trade an ancient scroll in exchange for the Enchanter's Tome. The Tome rested for many years within his master's sanctum until that fateful day when the Red Dragon and the other Vampire came to claim it. Withered, clawed hands grasped the Enchanter's Tome tightly and Hjalmar saw a nightmarish face with ancient flesh tightly stretched over a leering skull with sharp teeth, pointed ears like that of a bat's and eyes which burned with madness._

_Within the soul of this second Vampire, Hjalmar saw only a wellspring of Dhar itself, a being infused with the raw essence of dark magic. The Dark Soul and the Red Dragon would travel for many leagues from across the Chaos Wastes to the south in lands of men. The two parted ways within the borders of the Empire and Kislev and the Dark Soul would soon bring the Tome towards a city filled with tree where it would be brought to the Vampiress of whom now possessed it._

_Questions filled the mind of Hjalmar as of why the Dark Soul would give up such a treasure trove of dark lore for he had seemingly given it with only a word of thanks from the vampiress_. _His vision became black and for a moment, Hjalmar feared that he was blind but then he saw bright light which he realized was the sun. The Sorcerer Lord found himself looking down upon the world, upon the lands of the Empire._

_Fires burned across the Empire as its realms were bathed in blood and the sound of steel rang along with the shouts of men. Three lords, three emperors fought for control as brothers shed the blood of one another, unknown to them was the darkness, rising in the east. Hjalmar then saw the dark forests which he now traveled in and in a small, domesticated island of green pastures and fields, he saw an ancient castle of stone which bore the insignia of the White Wolf._

_Within the castle, a young maiden, the daughter of the Castellan was brought up in the typical, courtly ways of the Empire's nobility. Hjalmar recognized who the young maiden was and it seemed rather unbelievable at how such a sickeningly innocent seeming child would become the thing which stood in his way. The maiden lived a relatively happy life until one day, there came a foreign lord clad in black lacquered armour, immediately, Hjalmar saw the shadows within this lord for it was the same which the Red Dragon and the Dark Soul bore._

_The vision then shifted once more and Hjaalmar saw the witch moon hang high in the sky with the castle in view again. Blood filled the halls of the ancient bastion as the bodies of its occupants shambled and lurched. The young maiden who now seemed a bit older was lying still beside a window as the green shafts of the witch moon's light illuminated her._

_A dark voice then spoke with words imbued by the power of Dhar and a name was spoken. Hjalmar's vision was swiftly then flooded with countless images of bloodshed, war and death, visions he realized was the un-life of his nemesis. In mere seconds, the Sorcerer Lord had learned everything he could about his foe, her strengths, weaknesses, abilities, hopes, dreams and fears. There was one image though which always remained the same, it was the image of the wolf and the bat, an insignia to be precise and one which even Hjaalmar knew to be wary of._

As his Witchsight faded and his eyes viewed the mortal world again, he heard the voice of the Seeress whisper 'what did you see, Hjalmar Stormcrown?'

'Everything…' replied the Sorcerer Lord darkly as he tightened his grip upon the hilt of his sword.

Orders were now being barked by the Beastman chieftain to make the camp ready for deportation. They would be joining up with a larger warherd in the area which was heading for an unusually well defended Imperial town. Hjaalmar was very much interested in this for in the last moments of his vision, he saw the Vampiress protecting a town within the forest and glutting herself upon its inhabitants.

How convenient he thought, to draw out the beast by ridding it of its primary source of nourishment. Drawing his sword and watching the dark runes blazed along its length, the Sorcerer Lord needed to make preparations for the coming battle.

* * *

><p>The presence of the Wolf-kin was both comforting and worrying to Johan Steinman for he had heard much of their prowess and skill as warriors. One of the Wolf-kin accompanied his hunting party, a large leather armoured man named Beringar who was bald headed fellow with a beard which would have impressed a dwarf. A heavy warhammer rested over Beringar's right shoulder as he quietly surveyed the forest around them, he warrior moved with a surprising degree of quietness as he traveled along with the Huntsmen<p>

'So what's this about some witch I hear?' asked the Wolf-kin rather casually and the eyes of the huntsman quickly turned on the warrior.

For a moment, Johan felt a stab of jealousy for he thought that the big man might try to seek out the _Wolfenhexe_. He then realized with fear at exactly why men like the Wolf-kin would be seeking out the witch who had been protecting Valdenhoff from the beastmen army. Brief thoughts of shooting the warrior in the back had crossed his mind but Johan was quick to shake away such a murderous idea.

'What's wrong lad? Got something to say?' asked the big man and Johan froze up.

'N-nothing' replied the huntsman nervously and he glanced towards the rest of his hunting party who were more focused with keeping alert for any potential beastman or prey to hunt. The Wolf-kin shrugged and went back to watching to forest for any potential threats.

Tonight thought Johan, he should go back to the Witch's cave. He had to see her again he thought, his idle time was plagued by thoughts of the _Wolfenhexe_ with her seductive voice and her shapely form. He would slip out in the night and warn her of the Ulricans for he did not wish for any unnecessary blood to be spilled.

His stomach then growled and the Huntsman remembered that he not eaten much in the past two days. Hopefully they can find something to bring back to the town because otherwise, he was not keen on fighting beastmen with an empty stomach and he could see that his fellows thought the same. With a quiet prayer to Taal, Johan and the rest of his party continued their hunt.

* * *

><p>Much to the surprise of Mayor Jakob Hosse as he sat within his office in the town hall, he saw that some of the parties of hunters and gatherers had returned with a fair degree of success. Fruits, nuts and wild vegetables had been found by the foragers while the hunters had been able to bring back the meat of a few animals. Unfortunately though, it seemed that according the hunters, the animals they had caught were fleeing en masse and the Mayor had a fairly good idea from what.<p>

The Wolf-kin leader, Albrecht Krieger had spent much of the day organizing logging crews to cut down more trees around the town so that the materials could be used to help make arrows, bolts, defensive spikes and firewood. There was something about the Howl of Winter which inspired them to work harder and do their best. It filled the Mayor with some small hope that perhaps their town was saved.

While the Wolf-kin had been seeing to the security and defense of the town, Jakob and some of the other members of the town's council had been debating on their matter with the witch. They were currently questioning whether they should still send someone to _Wolfenhexe_ tonight. While the appearance of the Ulrican warriors was a welcome thing, their presence presented some dire new complications for the town.

With many of the town's people seeing how the witch had managed to slay many of the much larger beastmen forces which attempted to raid Valdenhoff, the council was unanimous with the idea that they should not do anything to anger the _Wolfenhexe_. They also could not let the Wolf-kin know anything about their pact for if word got out that the witch of whom people suspect was indeed a necromancer, they could soon have Witch Hunters paying them a visit. It was an odd thing how the town's hopes for survival against the current threat were also the seeds of a future one.

Perhaps they could quietly send someone out he thought and pretend that it was a patrol, someone could deliver a message explaining in a nice sort of way that they could no longer send people to the witch's cave and that they no longer need her services. The idea of course sounded rather stupid to the mayor but it was the best he could come up while keeping things quiet from the Ulrican warriors. Explaining the idea to his fellows on the town's council, they hesitantly agreed to the idea which unfortunately brought the discussion to a new phase.

Who were they to send out now, especially with the main body of the beastmen army so close to the town? A knock came on the wooden door leading into the room and the mayor called out for the person to come in. The door then slightly opened and he saw Captain of Schenck of the local militia.

'Captain' nodded the Mayor and the members of council greeted the man who had serious look on his face, the kind which was not good news.

'Herr Mayor' saluted the Captain as he clicked his heels and gave them a sharp salute 'we have a problem…'

'Why is it that you seek the Enchanter's Tome?' asked the Seeress, Sigrid Fire-eye as she sat cross legged upon a crude cart built by the beastmen and pulled by the boar-like creatures known as Tuskgors which were enthralled by the Sorcerer Lord's magic.

'Because my master bids me so' replied Hjalmar as he too sat and mentally prepared himself for his battle against the Vampire Countess.

'Your path with only lead you to ruin, Hjalmar Stormcrown' whispered the Seeress rather enigmatically and the Sorcerer felt curious at whatever vision she had seen.

'You have seen something, haven't you?' questioned the Sorcerer Lord for he himself has had experience in dealing with diviners whose skill in predicting the future ranged from the disturbingly accurate to the unreliable charlatan.

'I have seen your death, Hjalmar of the Aeslings' answered the Witch cryptically and the curiosity of the Sorcerer Lord grew.

'And pray tell then, what did you see?' said the Sorcerer.

Sigrid's body trembled slightly as she was no doubt recalling whatever this vision was and he saw her hands ball into fists which were clenched so tightly that blood began to draw from her palms. The Seeress then looked to Hjalmar with pleading eyes and after a quiet moment she answered him.

'I saw a mighty daemon of the Tchar who wore the flesh of a king in black armour' Sigrid then said as she placed her hands over his gauntleted own. 'This daemon will call for many champions of the Great Changer to assail a city of ice and snow' she then continued 'among them will be you, Hjalmar Stormcrown, you will have grown greater than you are now, the power of the Winds bend further at your will.'

The Sorcerer Lord's curiousity was piqued even more so but he remained silent and the Seeress carried on, her voice became devoid of emotion and tone. 'There, above the skies of the frozen city' she said 'you will battle against a mighty foe of steel, steam and smoke.'

'A foe of steel, steam and smoke? Questioned the Sorcerer who wondered what such a thing could be. 'And what is the outcome of this battle?' asked the Hjalmar who found that his curiosity was getting the better of him.

'Ascension will not be your fate… Hjalmar Hadvarson' whispered the Seeress and for a moment and the Sorcerer Lord was taken by her use of his father's name 'you will die a warrior's death as your destiny crosses with many mighty champions whose own fates have been shaped that those who oppose the Dark Gods.

How intriguing, thought the Sorcerer Lord as he decided that after this quest was over, he should consult his master of whom was well skilled in the ways of divination. In his experience, the thing about fate and prophecy was the way they can be altered or changed.

'But there is a way to avert such a fate, Hjalmar Stormcrown…' Sigrid said as she placed a hand on the cheek guard of his helmet and the Sorcerer Lord remained silent but tense for he had faced followers of Slaanesh who had resorted to intimacy in an attempt to sway him 'a way which will free both you and I' she said 'to be truly free of the Dark Gods and their daemon servants.'

'I am not a slave, Seer' growled Hjalmar as he narrowed his eyes 'I am a Sorcerer Lord of the Tchar, a champion of the Chaos itself, I can command storms of fire and lighting, I can cause flesh to bend and mutate upon a word, I have led legions and fought in countless battles, I have slain enough foes to leave mountains corpses.'

'We are all slaves, Hjalmar Stormcrown' whispered the Seeress as her hand fell away from him 'some of us realize it more so than others while most remain ignorant to it and yet there are also those who choose embrace it.'

Snorting with disdain, Hjalmar shook his head and decided that the Seeress was not worth his time. Going back to his mental preparations, Sigrid's words lingered within his and mind as silence passed between them. Continuing on their path to join the greater army which was gathering, he heard the distant beating of drums, the guttural war chants of beastmen and the presence of sorcery within the air.

The time for battle was drawing closer now and when the time came, he was confident that he could obliterate the walking corpse which had so vexed him in these past few days. He would then bind the spirit of his foe and from the vampire, he would learn where the Tome is and whatever arcane lore she had gleaned from it. Confident in his own skills and the knowledge he had learned of his most deadly foe who could prove to be a most interesting opponent.

* * *

><p>The cold darkness of the night surrounded him once more but this time though, Johan's heart was not filled with fear for what lay beyond his meager vision with only a small lantern attached to his belt. While the people of his town were preparing for the inevitable attack with every man now being conscripted to fight, huntsmen such as himself were being sent out to keep an eye on the beastmen. It had been a relatively simple thing to slip away from the others and make his way to the cave where the witch resided.<p>

Thoughts of the _Wolfenhexe_ quickened his pace as he felt an odd sense of excitement in seeing her again. For many nights now, his thoughts had been filled with images of that woman who seemed so different compared to all of the others he had known. He longed to hear her voice again and if it was true what some of the others also say, the witch was rather beautiful as well.

Along the way, he noticed that there were none of the witch's wolves watching him in the distance; he hoped that the creatures were keeping themselves busy with the beastmen. It did not take long for Johan to find the cave again but as his eyes did their best to pierce the shroud of night, he noticed several man-sized figures standing guard outside of the cave. Northmen! He realized with eyes widened as he was able to make out a horned helmet.

All thoughts of his own safety was erased and replaced with that for the _Wolfenhexe_. Brining up his bow and fitting an arrow to the string, the huntsman took aim at one of the northmen and he released an arrow which he was sure had struck his intended target. He heard no cries of pain from his target and the northmen, only a low, mournful moan as they slowly advanced towards him.

Hissing a curse, Johan plucked another arrow and in his rising panic, he realized that he may have made a terrible mistake. As the northmen drew closer to him and he brought up his bow again, the huntsman quickly caught the smell of rot and decay from daemon worshippers. The northmen lurched towards Johan and as he fixed another arrow, he saw the deathly pale flesh, slack-jawed and white eyed form of a marauder near him.

'Taal's Horns…' he gasped as he saw the rotted, maggot-filled gouge across the northman's neck left breast over where the heart and lung should be. The stigmata of mutation was heavy upon the body of the northman as Johan saw several milky white eyes and tooth filled maws which had leech-like tongues across the arms. Finally regaining some of his nerve, the huntsman fired an arrow which struck the marauder in the gaping maw of the mouth.

The northman's head jerked back from the shot but to Johan's horror, remained standing. A heavy metallic gauntlet slapped over his right shoulder and the huntsman turned his head to see a leering skull with green bale-fire eyes. Swiftly trying to slip out from the skeletal monstrosity's grip, he felt the gauntleted hand tighten painfully around his shoulder as he heard the sound of several heavy footsteps nearby.

All around him, Johan saw the brutish faces of northmen who could not possibly even be alive as each bore grievous wounds which did not take a physician to know was deadly. There were also more of the burning eyed skeletons around him with each one garbed in suits of heavy armour which were etched in blasphemous symbols. Shouting out in terror as the monstrous things held him in their grasp, he shouted, kicked and fought, trying to get himself free but to no avail.

Feeling himself being dragged further into the cave by two armoured skeletons, he saw several more of the dead standing guard with each one clutching a fearsome looking weapon of an ancient design. The temperature within sharply fell and Johan felt a chill which reached his very soul. The echoing sounds of metalworking could be heard from deeper within the cavern as Johan was further manhandled by the pair of emerald-fire eyed monsters.

The path of the cavern was no longer littered with bones and instead, he saw fortifications such as crude metal fences or wooden stakes driven into the ground. It was now like some sort of fortress he thought as the huntsman passed by a pair of skeletal goblins which were busily setting up some form of tripwire trap. On another side, he noted that there were also several skeletal beastmen with rat-like features which were pounding and shaping metal upon the surface of heavy, flat stone while others grinded crude blades.

As he was carried further away by the skeletal warriors, Johan felt the dread within his stomach knot more tightly as his bowels threatened to void itself again. The echo of the metal working behind him was mixed with the clatter of the plate armour of his captors as they silently moved on. A loud shout was suddenly heard from ahead and despite his fear of the current situation he was puzzled to note that is was the sound of someone who seemed to be engaging an act of intimacy.

The weak light of the lantern attached to his belt revealed to his surprise, the piled up bodies of seven other men and women from Valdenhoff. His eyes widened as he saw their still bodies, each looked deathly pale with blood seeping from the side of their necks but quickly, he was somewhat relieved to see that they were still breathing or whispering something as if talking in their sleep. Close to the body pile, he saw the _Wolfenhexe_ on her knees with Adalhard Wever in front of her; the witch's lips were pressed against the boy's neck as he moaned in ecstasy while his sister, Adalheid lay still beneath them.

The witch then looked up to Johan for a moment and the huntsman felt a mixture of longing as he saw her bare face which was indeed rather beautiful with ivory skin, black hair and the aristocratic features in of a noble-born and yet he was also horrified to see the fresh blood which coated her chin.

'I will be with you in a moment little morsel' grinned the _Wolfenhexe_ rather playfully as she bit into the Adalhard's neck again and the boy gasped in pleasure as much as Johan had on that first night.

Countless horror stories were suddenly recalled by Johan as it all clicked into place and he could not believe how neither he, nor anyone else had figured out exactly what the witch was. 'Vampire' he whispered in horrid realization for he and many other folk had been bitten by the _Wolfenhexe_, they would all turn! They would all be cursed to become creatures of damnation and darkness.

Struggling once more with the grip of his captors, the skeletal warriors maintained their hold even when his shoulders felt like they were being crushed with the bone slowly being ground into dust. Panic welled up within him as he struggled and he saw the vampire let go of Adalhard who slumped to the cavern floor next to his sister with a contented look on his face. The vampire licked her blood stained lips with a sensuous "mmmm" of satisfaction.

'So good that you have come little morsel' smiled the Wolfenhexe as she revealed blood stained teeth and long fangs 'I have need of a dessert anyway…'

* * *

><p>Feeling the warm rush of fresh blood flowing into her veins, Meike felt bloated and sluggish from her most recent meal. Normally, it would not be wise for one of her kind to just gorge like that for having too much blood was like a mortal having too much wine but from what her minions had seen of the most recent beastmen army though, she would need as much energy as she could get, even if it meant consuming in excess.<p>

While the idea of draining the mortals dry was deeply tempting to the lady vampire, she had refrained from doing because if she had to flee, at the very least she could travel with "rations" along the way. Gently brushing the hair of the young man who had been the last to enter her lair, she had instantly recognized him as the one who had sought to make the pact in the first place, like the rest, the man had simply been one among her many recent "visitors". The huntsman whispered in his stupor and from Meike's experience, he was unlikely to remember a lot of what just happened, her feedings seemed to do that for some reason.

Regardless, the lady vampire felt that she had enough blood in her veins to take on the oncoming Chaos army with her own legion of undead warriors. Focusing her will upon the legion of undead warriors which awaited her command, every zombie, skeleton, wolf, bat, ghost and wight began to group up into formations around the mouth of the cavern. There was one last thing Meike needed before going off to face this foe in glorious carnage.

Looking over her shoulder with a devilish smile, the lady vampire's eyes fell upon a strongbox of bone and iron and inside, she felt the call of what lay within it. The time of the wolf now over and in its place was the time to don the mantle of a conqueror.


End file.
